Chapter 72: Seventy Two
Valka
Very slowly, his hand retracts from my neck. Something is happening to him. Not something. The shift. He’s shifting. His hair is way past his shoulders now, falling to his bare torso, his features starker and severe, hints of silver fur growing on his skin.
Anger completely forgotten and replaced with fear, my body quakes as he reaches for my chest, a finger hooking in the neckline of the flimsy dress and with a curious, almost reverent look, he shreds it.
Cool air kisses my skin, my nipples tightening. His claws run up the side of my neck gently, hovering over the tingling mark on my skin. Every nerve beneath my skin seems to spark and ache under the contact. "Lucien?" I breathe.
At the sound of his name, he pauses. Then blinks, brows furrowing in slight confusion. And then, he looks down at himself, at his hands, blinking again, the violet returning to his eyes briefly.
And in that moment of clarity, his eyes meet mine. "Valka," he rasps. I hear bones snapping. His. "Get out from beneath me. Please."
I nod, but the moment I shift, my hips brush against his and that small, accidental contact is catastrophic. Heat flares between us like a forge brought to life. Lucien groans, hands snapping to my waist, pinning me there. "N-not... like... that."
"Alright," I whisper, breath hitching, all the fight gone from me.
His claws curl on my waist, He dips his face into the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply, shuddering. "When the hunger comes like this, it is hard... to keep him at bay. It hasn’t happened since... Ilya." His breath ghosts over my throat, fangs grazing the tender skin there, and molten heat pools low in my belly. "I cannot... physically separate myself from you. Gods, you smell so good."
A whimper escapes me before I can swallow it back. My thighs shift, parting slightly of their own accord, and shame burns through me. His hands drift from my waist to where the dress has bunched around my thighs and the second his fingers meet bare skin, he rips them away as if burned. They slam into the bedpost instead, splintering the wood. When his gaze finds me again, it’s violet-gold and wild, his chest heaving with the force of holding himself back.
"The moment I saw you in that dress," he murmurs, voice wrecked and reverent, "I knew precisely what I wanted. I wanted to crawl beneath your skin and make a home there. I wanted to carve myself into the marrow of your bones so that even the gods would know you were mine. I wanted to brand my name into your blood until there was nothing left of you that did not answer to me."
The confession robs me of air. Rage coils with something far worse, want, as my treacherous body arches towards him.
"I will never forgive you," I whisper, the words shaking as they leave me. "Not for what you’ve done. Not for what you’re about to do."
But my body betrays me, slick with want and humiliation. The scent of it clings to the air, too heavy to ignore. I smell it. He smells it.
With frightening speed, he wrenches himself away from me completely. One heartbeat, he looks ready to devour me whole. The next, he’s by the door, trembling, shifting, dragging breath after breath into his lungs as if trying to breathe me out.
"Maybe I am as selfish as you think," he says hoarsely, every word a battle against the beast beneath his skin. "Maybe I am mad. Because I do not regret this--not for a second. I would do it again. A thousand times." His gaze scorches me from across the room, and the hunger in it is no less consuming for the distance. "But you’re wrong, Valka. I did not bind you to claim your body. I do not wish to take a single thing you are unwilling to give."
My pulse riots.
"I gave my word," he says, softer now, almost gentle. "My hands will only know your skin when you will it. When you ask for them. When you plead for them." His eyes drag over me, dark and sinful, and the faintest ghost of a smile twists his lips. "And you will plead. You will learn the shape of me, the weight of what I am. You will come to understand me. And one day, gods help you, you will love me."
And then he’s gone, leaving me colder than I’ve ever felt. Alone. Exhausted.
It starts slowly in my chest, a small heave, a sharp inhale, and then an exhale. Trembling fingers, a gasp. I clutch at my chest, fat wretched sobs escaping me. I hurt. For many reasons I couldn’t have explained to him.
A part of me had wondered. Let myself fantasize about it for a moment. Being his. And that part of me wanted it. Him. But not like this. I wanted because I could choose, not because I was tricked into it. Now, I can no longer tell where my feelings end and where this cursed bond begins. And I’ll never know if these useless feelings come from me. Or the bond. Or Ilya. I’ll never be able to disentangle it.
And there is another part of me that vehemently refuses the idea. Fights against it. Because being his would mean losing myself. It was one more part of me to give away to Ilya. One morning, I could wake up and no longer be Valka, all traces, all of who I am completely gone.
It was already hard enough. Two days ago, I’d been craving persimmons. I hate persimmons. Margot said Ilya loved them. Later, I’d caught myself walking to the gardens yesterday to tend to the flowers. I’ve never had a thing for flowers. My palate is changing. My wants are changing. My life is changing, without me being able to chart the course of it anymore.
My fingers clasp around the necklace he’d given me. What does Lucien want from me?