Chapter thirty - five - Oh sweet seduction

I didn't wait in Lorcan's chambers.

I didn't follow his orders.

Instead, I ran to my room and threw the sheath, my crescent, and the blade all onto the bed.

Freya and I ended up coming back to mayhem. While Link and Rydan were still at the arena, Venators passed us on the way out, scurrying towards the dungeons. I knew why and worse is that I was involved in it.

I glance at my wrist, running my fingers over the fresh bruises, then drop them to fiddle with the ends of my tunic. I'd played every outcome that could happen today, Lorcan appearing should have been up there, but it wasn't.

"It will be fine, I'm certain it will be," Freya mutters under her breath, pacing back and forth at the foot of my bed. "Lorcan has a soft spot for you. He has since the beginning, he can't be mad! You can just tell him you wanted to explore the dungeons. You are always in the mood to explore everything—" She halts then looks at me in concerned panic. "How are you so calm!"

"Trust me, I'm not calm." I just hide it all too well.

Freya sighs, her shoulders sinking as she walks over and lowers to her knees. "At least you managed to get all that information from that awful shifter."

I shake my head once, and Freya's hand rests on top of mine to stop the constant fidgeting. If I wasn't so worked up, I'd thank her before I ripped a hole through my clothes. "It's only opened up more questions, and Leira was right. Going against the queen is too much of a risk."

"When have risks ever stopped you?" Her voice delicate and sweet. It's comforting, like that of a mother's love.

I tug at my bottom lip with my teeth but end up smiling. "Never," I whisper. "It's why I always used to get in trouble with Idris."

Freya chuckles light-heartedly. "I can imagine. He already kept arguing with me when I told him he was worse than a grumpy old man on the night of Noctura." Her laugh fades into a meaningful smile. "You know... I'm glad you're my friend Nara."

Words lodge in my throat. Freya is the only friend I've ever had, and I'm grateful to have met her. I don't think anyone else would do what she's done. Stick by my side through all of this.

Thudding raps against the door loud that Freya jolts, placing her hand to her chest. I close my eyes, sighing and a gust of air weaves through my hair as Freya rises to open it. Slowly getting up, I start to turn to the side, hearing the voice I've heard a thousand times. "Can I speak to Miss Ambrose in private?"

My eyes are now alert, staring at Lorcan. He's looking at me with an expression I can't decipher, just like at the beginning when we'd met. One of his hands is behind his back, and the other pressing the door as if he's worried Freya will close it on him.

She would.

I glance at her, nodding, and for mere seconds she hesitates. She wants to stay, possibly defend me in the most dramatic way, but Lorcan and I have shared moments I never thought I would with anyone. I had to face him.

My brows rise towards Freya, and I mouth the words 'don't worry.' She straightens, huffing a sigh as she glances at Lorcan and finally decides to walk out. Lorcan steps into the room, closing the door and locking it behind him. Then we gaze at each other in silence for minutes. He knows I won't be the first to speak, not when I'm so mulish. His hand goes to his forehead as he breathes roughly from his nose, and at last, he says, "I should have known you wouldn't wait."

"Forgive me for not waiting inside your room for hours until you came," I state a little too sarcastically.

He shakes his head, a muscle flittering under his jaw. "Do you know how dangerous the dungeons can be if you're not given authorization? If the General had caught—"

"What?" I step forward, a flicker of irritation in my voice as I remind myself the outcome could have been worse. "Revoked me of my rights to become a Venator? Send me to the dungeons themselves? Because I'm certain, he would love that."

My gaze wanders to his other hand still behind his back and then up at him shaking his head once more. He's usually singing my praises to other leaders, believes I can pass the trials, but how am I supposed to tell him something I'm not sure of myself anymore.

He doesn't answer my mocking questions. His voice is a low whisper as he moves closer to me. "Why were you down there?"

Never have I seen such darkness in those green eyes. It's as if worries cloud them. I don't back away from him and say in the same tone as his, "You said it yourself once; I'm adventurous." I cock my head, clearing my throat. "Will that be all, Deputy? Or must I give a reason for that too?"

I'm aware of how cold I'm acting, and he knows that from the bitter chuckle he releases. "Always so defensive, Nara."

I don't provide an answer because it's true. The same way he puts his walls up, so do I. No matter how regretful I feel afterward, especially with him.

"I do have another question, though," he says, and it's so quiet, but every pulse of mine with him standing this close beats in my ear, my throat, my chest. "Where did you get that blood?"

My veins freeze, and I picture the shifter curled up on the floor in agony. "I—" A deep pause. "I took it from a trapper I used to work for, he had a thing for collecting various trinkets, and I suppose fairy blood was one of them." It's hard to imagine the blood I took from Ivarron could have reacted that way upon the touch of the shifter's skin. "I forgot I had it still with me," I say, and Lorcan's slow, cautious nod prompts me to add, "Is the shifter—"

"He's weak but alive," he answers bluntly before I can finish, and though I wish to ask further, it'd only raise suspicion. I don't want to see that shifter again, and he didn't care whether I freed him or not, but the blood reaction...

I refrain from saying another word and cross my arms over my chest, waiting for him to leave. It's minimal, but a flash of struggle crosses his eyes. Struggle and torment with himself.

He walks to the door, and that same regret fills in my chest; I fear it will burst. By the time he raises his hand to unlock the door, he stills for what feels like many contemplating seconds. "Nara," he sighs my name before turning around, his head hung low. "The carving of the moon... tell me about it."

I look at him with caution, not understanding why he is bringing it up now. His eyes lift at my silence, but his head is still down. It reminds me of a child getting reprimanded. "Please?"

Whether it's the begging in his voice or the yearning to be near him, I start softly, like I'm not sure myself if I should be answering him. "When I was young, I used to carry around a carving of the sun." My throat moves as Lorcan's gaze punctures through me. "One day, I bumped into someone in a rush who dropped the crescent. We ended up picking each other's, and from then on, I've always carried that crescent as a form of good luck."

It turns quiet for so long.

"So, this..." He brings forward his fisted hand, the one he kept holding behind his back. "Must belong to you then." Peeling his fingers away, shock grips at my throat. White oak carved into the shape of the sun. One of the rays chipped at the top from when I'd dropped it.

My carving... my sun.

"It was you?" I breathe, rushing to grasp the carving. Tears well in my eyes as I touch the wooded rays with my index finger, recollecting the memories of my mother. it's the first carving I'd ever done with her help. "You—you were the one to drop it." I shake my head in awe. "And you kept it all these years."

"I always wondered why it was so special." Lorcan looks at it then his eyes are on me, purposeful and fierce. "Now I know."

Because I'd carved it.

I'm at a loss, nothing... yet everything comes at once. It's odd, strange, peculiar. I still remember the words my mother told me when I'd tried to yell after the person who'd dropped the crescent. That it was a sign from Solaris and Crello, two souls crossing paths. Iker used to make fun of that idea, but I'd always believed.

With my fingers on the carving, I look towards my bed and the crescent. My brows narrow in deep thought as I glance at Lorcan. "What does the R stand for?" A question I've wanted to know the answer to for so long.

"My father's name," he says, and his stare twists pensively down at the sun. "Rayth... he is the one who carved it."

My heart tumbles, and my eyes widen as I retract my fingers from the carving. "I didn't know your father was a carver."

He laughs, but it sounds sad, distant. "There's a lot you don't know."

He's right. There is a lot I don't know yet from the start; he's found something that tethers us together. So many thoughts race through my mind; why was he in such a rush that day? Did he keep it for the same reasons I did? But I can't voice them.

Setting the sun on the bed, he exhales, rising back up as heat emanates from our bodies closely touching. His sigh seems like he's about to apologize when I'm the one who's constantly lying to him. "Nara, I—"

I press my fingers lightly against his lips, my eyes aligned with his chest, the way it heaves through the leather armor. "I know things have been weird lately." I blow a long breath then our gazes meet. "But for one moment, Lorcan... I just want to forget."

"What is it you want to forget?" He whispers as my hand sweeps the bottom of his lip down to his chin.

My other hand reaches around his neck, cupping it as I lower his lips to mine, gentle like I don't want it to end. I don't think it's my voice that comes out when I brush my lips torturously against his and say, "Everything."

I want to savor every moment of this, except the desire is too strong, and Lorcan tugs me closer to him. His kiss practically demands more, more, more as his tongue slips past my lips. I begin walking backward with him as he loosens the laces of my corset and it falls to the floor. I don't want to stop him. Whatever cold front I'd put on before dissolved into nothing.

His hand slides up my tunic, skimming the edge of my breast that I gasp into his mouth and pull back to look at him. He leans in wanting more, but I say, "Wait, Freya—"

"The door is locked," he cuts me off, his voice raspy. And before I have the chance to retort, he's back to kissing me and pushing me to the bath chambers.

My lower back hits against the basin as I yank at his clothes, the leather dropping and baldric clanging onto the floor. I draw back again to stare at his bare chest, the hardness and strength he's endured from being what he is. One of my fingers strays to that scar on his right. Such tightness as the muscles contract. And as my stare lingers on it, I hear him chuckle.

"You're always so fascinated by that scar."

I glance up at him. My blood swirls fast. "I'm fascinated by all of you. Just like you are always intrigued by me."

He laughs again, and it ripples inside me, like skipping rocks. His hands then come under my legs as he lifts me onto the basin. "You're not going to run away this time, are you?"

I glance at our position, the same we'd been months ago when I'd left his chambers. Wrapping my arms around his neck, a chuckle leaps out of me, soft and lovingly. "Take a guess."

He smiles, eyes half-closed as he hums, understanding that I wasn't going to; I don't want to. Not this time. At that, calloused fingers glide to my leggings, and for a second, his eyes shoot to mine.

I lift my bottom, giving him access as he breathes out, shakily rolling them down to my ankle. I watch, swallowing a bout of nerves and thrill as he takes my socks and leggings off, and the only thing left covering me is my tunic.

I arch my back, eyelids shutting as his palm travels up my leg and in between my thighs, separating them. "I can stop if you want," he whispers, and I open my eyes as his hand pauses any movement.

"Do you want to stop?" I ask because if I'm sure of one thing, it's that I needed to quench this ache within me.

He shakes his head slowly, eyeing my lips. "Not at all."

I lean in, my voice light enough by his ear, "Then don't."

He shudders with what sounds like a groan, and that hand starts to caress the inners of my thighs, working around parts I'd never let anyone touch until I can't take it anymore. My heavy breaths indicate that as we stare at each other every minute that goes by.

And as he presses his body with mine, I feel the hardness of him before I'm sucking in air as his finger slides into me. Only one at first, then the second, slow and soothing strokes. The pads of my fingers dig into his shoulder blades, and I drop my forehead into the hook of his neck. My body tightens, reaching to my stomach, causing me to close my eyes. It's something I can't fathom—a need for it to go on forever.

With labored breath, I move my head and look at him. My hips grind along with the movement of his fingers inside me as I gasp out, "I want more."

He knows exactly what I meant, and he wants it just as much as I do. The spark in his eyes says it all.

"Soon, I promise," he says, shaking, and I let out a whimper as he goes deeper. His lips cover my own fervently, and my legs clench around his as a release forms in my gut. I'm dripping in sweat; my moans mix with him until I'm undone, and everything goes numb.

We continue kissing at such deepness even when I can no longer feel his fingers inside me and his other hand tangles in my sweat-damped hair.

For the first time since I arrived, I'm able to forget everything.