Page 71 of Wolfkissed
And they hadn’t.
Valen saved my life several times. He became that door, that wall that won’t break when the enemy batters against it. A fortress surrounding me, a dragon breathing fire on those attacking me.
When sleep claims me, it’s him I see.
I seem to have swapped my usual nightmares and anxious dreams about wolves and blood with fantasies involving a certain tall, muscular dark fae. A wolf. Talk about irony…
So what is going on in my head, right? Going from hating the monster to desiring it. Craving it. I toss and turn on the hard ground, touching him in my mind. Mapping the hard planes of his muscular chest, the scars and bruises, the dark lines of ink. I slide my hands over the perfectly cut muscles, the small brown nipples, the washboard stomach, and those deep lines cutting into his pants.
I’ve never wanted anyone like this. I thought I was a late bloomer, that my trauma suppressed any physical desire I might have expressed by now. I’m not a child. I’m in fact kind of old for an arranged marriage. Most ladies I’ve met or heard about get married when they are barely out of childhood, and I always supposed I was given some leeway because of my past.
Or because Lord Eorl was too busy to marry sooner, I don’t know. I’m aware I did my best not to dwell on the matter.
Going from not knowing if and when he would honor the marriage deal with my family to having to suddenly pack everything and prepare to leave, then finding myself running for my life… is so weird.
The weirdness seeps into my dreams, mingling with the memories. Open maws dripping blood, pain, and a sense of suffocation, teeth closing on my neck—and then it turns strangely erotic, the teeth pressing into my breasts, into my inner thighs, biting down?—
“Princess.” A hand shakes me roughly. “Wake up.”
“What?”
“Wake up. It’s time to go.”
I blink at the pale light of morning, wondering where I am and why my back aches as if someone beat me up. Then I move, and my middle hurts just as much. I feel bruised all over and... and worse still, I feel an ache between my legs. I feel wet and tacky there. And I throb.
He’s crouched over me, his wild silvery hair in his face, that white tuft like the trail of a falling star. My gaze snags on his soft mouth, his brilliant eyes, the broad cheekbones, and that hard line of his jaw.
But he frowns and takes a long sniff. “Fuck.”
“What is it?” I sit up. “Wildcats? Boars? Wolves?”
“You.” He throws the word like an accusation. “It’s you.”
I blink in confusion. “What about me?”
“Your dreams... I used to smell so much fear on you, sour and acrid, but now... since we left the manor, your scent has changed.”
“Changed how?”
His eyes look darker than usual, the pupils swallowing the golden irises. “Sweeter. Like honey. Like?—”
“I don’t understand.”
“That place was poisoning you. Memories of fear and pain. Memories of terror. It makes sense that it wouldn’t let you bloom.”
“Oh.” I nod. “The theory of past trauma. Nothing new there, I?—”
“And you want me.”
I blink again. “I beg your pardon?”
“Princess… you need to stop having fantasies about me and let me help you out.”
“What?” I squawk. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You desire me. That’s what I am smelling.” A smirk tugs on his full lips. “All I can smell is your arousal, and that’s a lot of delicious cream.”
“That’s... offensive,” I mutter, realizing he wasn’t lying when he said he could smell my arousal before. Fae and wolf senses. It makes sense that he’d smell scents humans can’t. “And disgusting.”
