The Alpha King Marked Me. I Still Haven't Told Him I'm A Girl-Chapter 155: Extra - s (Lucien & Valka) VI

Valka

I don’t know how I found his home in that state. Or how I knew he was there. I only know my feet carries me, my body pulled by a string towards him, like we’ve been attached at opposite ends and that thin line is another hard yank away from snapping.

Down, further down the hall, I track his scent. The maids don’t stop me. If I was willing to be delusional, I would think they looked pleased to see me. But I couldn’t see or think of anything past the pangs of hunger pulsing in my stomach.

I hear them just as I round the corner. Soft laughter. Female. Lucien’s deep voice and his resounding chuckle. The soft sigh of fabric against skin, the rustle of more clothes.

My steps nearly falter. What did I think would happen? I’ve been gone for so long, the head cook now has a full head of grey hair. Did I think he would look for me? Wait for me? Is that what I’d hoped for when I left without wiping his mind clean of me?

Jealousy is an ugly emotion boiling in my stomach. It grows poisonous, infectious, irrational, and rather than turn back on my heel and return to Silvermoor, hoping and praying that Malachy won’t be overly pissed and overlook what I’ve done to him, I walk to the study.

I take in a lot in the second I stride in.

The study has hardly changed, though, there are more paintings on the walls now. My mind vaguely registers that they look familiar, but my brain shuts off in the next second.

The woman with Lucien is lean and tall, a olive skinned and dark haired wild beauty. She is dressed scantily. Or rather, the rest of her clothes are strewn about the study and she is in the act of taking off her chemise when I stride in.

The soft, white silk is well past her waist, sinking in a pool around her feet and her naked body is sculpted divinely like every man’s erotic dream.

Lucien’s seated on that large chair at the head of the long table, a goblet of wine being swirled in his fingers. His eyes are more clinical that lustful as they track over her curves. I see the contemplation in his eyes. I see annoyance. And I see bitterness. I also see that if I hadn’t walked in, he might have given in to it, perhaps, out of curiosity. Perhaps, out of spite because I know he’ll never stop thinking about me. I’m not sure.

I smell lust in the air. And I know my presence is more of a disturbance than anything.

But I haven’t been myself in days. The jealousy I feel is not normal. It makes me feel like tearing down the walls of this little castle. It demands pain. It demands penance. It demands destruction. It demands I mark my territory, permanently.

My vision hazes between red and bright as I fight the sudden bloodthrist. This isn’t right. I shouldn’t be here. I should be with Malachy. We should have been wed days ago and I should be in his home, not here.

But in the moment they both notice me, that moment Lucien’s head jerks up and he turns his face to me, I lose the fight against morality, against what’s right and wrong.

My instincts control me. Not Ilya. I don’t even feel her in my head when I decide that this--whatever this is--it’s never happening. He doesn’t get to forget about me when I can’t even last one night without being tortured by his absence.

"Who--"

I cross the room slowly.

Lucien’s violet gaze turns stormy, but they never leave my face as I close the distance, halting in front of him. "I didn’t give you leave to interrupt me."

I lean over him. Even sitting, he’s nearly towering over me. My fingers grip the front of his tunic, yanking him closer. "Fuck your leave."

I crush my lips against his.

He stiffens, eyes widening. I shut mine and give myself to it, to the anger, to the fear, to the jealousy, anguish and hunger. His lips are soft against mine, parting on an exhale that smells like sweetened grapes. First I learnt the curve of his upper lip, the shape of it, the texture and taste of it, and I don’t move to the bottom one until I know I could recognise him by his lips alone if I ever went blind.

I catch the bottom one between my teeth and tug, hard, until he grunts in approval, his hands finding my waist and pulling me onto his thighs.

His hair is soft between my fingers, softer than Malachy’s, longer than I last saw them, they’re teasing his lower back. Jealous of how unfair it is that he has to have everything, I grab a fistful and yank his head back.

Lucien growls in warning, his nails digging into my hip painfully, but my tongue teases the roof of his tongue and he doesn’t seem to mind that I’m rough handling him anymore. Or punishing him for no good reason.

He lets me taste him. He lets me take his air. He lets me control the pace. And it is slow and sweet and hard all the same.

When I break the kiss prematurely, he groans and reaches up to capture my lips again. But I pull back. Cup his chin in one hand as he breathes harshly against my mouth.

"Have you touched anyone else?" I ask. I don’t even recognize my voice. It is dark. Unhinged.

His jaw clenches. "No."

"Were you going to fuck her?"

A ragged exhale. His eyes are still trained on my mouth. "I don’t know."

"Why is she here, then?"

His eyes flick to mine. "Because you’ve made me miserable. It’s been more than a decade. I wanted a distraction."

I tuck his hair behind his ear gently. "That’s not happening, alright?"

He jerks his head into a nod. His obedience is like a shot of euphoria into my blood. He was right. It is thrilling, knowing I do not even have to compel him before he turns to butter in my hands.

"I want her gone." It’s not even a compulsion. Neither is it an order. It just is.

I climb off him and leave without a glance back. I’m halfway up the stairs when I hear her get escorted out by a guard. Her eyes meet mine over the stairwell and she glares at me openly, tears glistening in her eyes.

For some reason, I really want to laugh.

It isn’t until I am safe behind my old bedroom door, my back pressed against it that it really sinks in, the gravity of what I’ve done. I’d ridden from home like a woman chased by demons, leaving a single note behind.

"I’m sorry."

I ran from my wedding to be here. And now, I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do next.