Chapter 43

Arthur stared at her for a moment, clenching his hands and holding himself still. He didn’t want to push too far, but Daphne looked up at him calm and wanting. There was something in her eyes that told him she understood what he was asking, but he had to be sure.

“A-Are you sure?”

Daphne pulled him forward to brush her lips across his, “Yes.”

Arthur pulled her close, holding her against him, “Hold on to me.”

Daphne wrapped her arms around his neck, “What are you—”

She yelped as Arthur jumped from the balcony, reaching for the open balcony on the next floor.

“Arthur! We could have just walked back through the party.”

Lucas and Arthur snorted as he pulled them onto the second-floor balcony and deposited Daphne on the other side of the railing first.

“They would have just tried to hold us up and…” He ducked his head as her face turned red. “Have you changed your mind?”

Daphne took his hand and started walking into the castle with a determined stride. The sound of the party drifted up the stairwells as Arthur took the lead and led her up the stairs to the room he’d been using. His heart was racing, he felt over warm and eager to get Daphne out of the beautiful but ornate dress.

When they reached the room, Arthur closed the door behind him as Daphne threw her arms around his shoulders, kissing him with a soft moan and pressing up against him. Arthur ripped his vest and shirt off, pulling her close to fumble with the ties of the ground.

He felt clumsy and a bit ridiculous as his fingers got tangled in the silken ribbons. He grunted, trying to hold onto his patience and not rip it.

“Just rip it, Arthur,” Daphne gasped in his ear. “It’s—”

The ribbons turned to shreds and he pulled his hands free and pulled the panel of her dress off. He heard it flutter to the floor as he lifted her and carried her towards the bed as they kissed.

Daphne didn’t know what had come over her. Maybe being kidnapped and seeing Arthur lose his mind had removed some barrier in her mind. Arthur was her mate. How and why it worked wasn’t her business. Arthur’s lineage was a matter for someone else to figure out. She was nervous, but the rolling sense of want and need was making her brave.

She wanted this.

She wanted Arthur.

She yelped as her back hit the bed and Arthur pulled back sharply. His face furrowed with concern.

“A-Are you hurt?”

Daphne shook her head, smiling up at him. Her gaze dropped to the pouch swinging from his neck and she giggled a bit. She pulled the pouch from around his neck and threaded her hand through his hair.

“I’m okay,” Daphne said. “You’re not going to hurt me.”

Arthur nodded, though he wasn’t sure how she could be so sure of that. She was so fragile and human. One wrong move and he could kill her easily. He swallowed thickly, sliding out of his pants and kissing her gently. Her hands thrilled and excited him, sliding over his bare skin as she gasped into his mouth.

Daphne cried out as he slipped his hand between her legs and shuddered at how wet she was.

“A-Arthur,” she gasped, clinging to him. “Please.”

“I-I don’t want to hurt you.” He’d heard it hurt the first time from little snippets of conversations in Brown Valley. It wasn’t exactly a complete education, but it was enough to know that he had to be careful.

“You’re not going to hurt me,” she panted as he slipped his fingers into her, careful to control himself despite the way Lucas growled at him to just have her.

Daphne shuddered. The bond was pouring desire and pleasure through her, blocking out coherent thoughts and making her whine for him to just have her. Usually, she would have appreciated him being so careful, but she didn’t want that now.

“Arthur, please, just…” Daphne gasped as he stroked something inside her, barely catching it as he was doing whatever he was trying to do other than drive her crazy. “Stop.”

He froze and pulled his hand out gently.

“I—”

Daphne pulled his head down to kiss her and wrapped her legs around his waist until the rigid length of him pressed against her.

“Please, I want…” Daphne swallowed. “I want you. Please?”

Arthur shuddered in her arms before adjusting his hips and pressing into her. She heard herself gasping beyond the thudding of her heart in her ears as he pressed her close and filled her. She couldn’t think. She could barely breathe at the rush of emotion that stormed through her as he groaned into her neck.

Arthur stilled, holding himself still as the bond burned and completed, almost sparkling where they touched.

“D-Daphne—”

“Yes, yes, yes! Please? Don’t… Don’t stop. I’m okay. You won’t hurt me…” Daphne said, speaking so fast, her voice thick with emotion, squeezing him so tight his head was spinning. He thrust drawing a low moan from her. He rolled his hips and she pleaded with him to do it again.

Her voice, panting in his ear, telling him she was fine. Telling him she wanted more urged him to thrust faster until he was moaning and he lost himself to the sound of her pleasured cries.

The bond felt as if it was on fire, filling him with heat and the sound of her pleasure, pleading with him not to stop.

“Harder,” she gasped against his mouth. “Harder. Harder.”

The slap of their skin filled the air, but he couldn’t hear anything but the thudding of her heart and the sound of her voice calling his name, sweet and desperate, as she clung to him as if he was the only thing in the world. For a long time, she was the only thing in his world and her pleasure was more important than breathing.

“Harder, Arthur.” She cried. “More!”

He shuddered, driving her to the edge with him, dragging her with him thought he wasn’t sure if he was chasing her over the age. She screamed as he felt himself pitch over the edge with her. Pleasure stormed through him almost painfully and zapped him of coherence and strength. He breathed in their mingled scent and grinned as she trembled gently beneath him.

“Arthur?”

“Again.”

There had been darkness and the smell of stale blood. He’d heard Arthur and his mate and the survivors of the wolves he’d brought with him leave as he balanced on the edge of consciousness.

The stench of rogues and death filled his nose and pulled him firmly into consciousness. He wouldn’t die surrounded by useless tools. He wouldn’t die until he’d claimed what was rightfully his.

Arthur had won this battle, but it wasn’t over. Owen turned over, fashioning a bandage around his wrist and pulling it tight with his teeth. He wouldn’t die. He’d survive on his strength the way he always had. He was already healing from the gash in his chest. The wound had slowed to a trickle because either he didn’t have enough blood left in his body or because he was healing, he didn’t know.

It didn’t matter.

He had to get away from the tower. The smell of death would bring wolves and other scavenging beasts and he wasn’t in a position to fight anything. He had to get far enough away to be safe enough to tend his injuries. If Arthur was smart, or if the wolves he were wife were smart, they’d come back once they were healed to check for his body.

He couldn’t give them that satisfaction. Arthur would pay for this. Arthur’s mate would pay for rejecting him and thwarting his plans. How had she gotten free? He held onto the thought of his revenge and triumph as he crawled through the bodies and blood into the forest.

He’d reached the edge of a river, barely flowing into the vampire territories, when his limbs refused to obey him. He lay prone in a nearly indefensible position, cold, aching, and losing his grip on what little sanity he had left.

The shadows were whispering. Or, was that the wind through the trees? He felt something or someone nearby in a prickling of awareness across his skin. He slowed his breathing, gathering his strength to make one strike count as much as possible.

Whoever or whatever it was wouldn’t kill him easily.

Footsteps drew closer, slow and soft. Owen waited and waited until the shadow was close enough. It kneeled and reached out. Owen turned his head sharply and snapped his teeth, aiming to bite the shadow’s hand, but the shadow avoided his attack and gripped his jaw, turning his face up to look up at burning red eyes.

The figure gasped as Owen’s world began to turn dark.

“Son?”