Chapter 6: Cold Skin, Hot Lies
851 Words
The cold started with his silence.
Kael hadn’t touched her in three days.
Not even a glance.
Not in the war chamber. Not in passing. Not when she brushed against him “by accident” in narrow hallways or passed messages through tightly folded notes.
Luna told herself she didn’t care.
She trained harder. Dug deeper into the archives. Talked to ghosts no one else acknowledged.
But her body ached for him.
Her wolf curled restlessly beneath her skin, sensing the mate it couldn’t reach. And her heart…
It twisted tighter with every quiet room he exited before she entered.
The tension cracked when she found Xavier waiting outside her chamber door.
Leaning.
Smiling.
Polished and poisonous as ever.
“Funny,” he said, lifting a brow. “You always did hate when people kept secrets from you.”
Luna didn’t answer. She moved to step around him.
He blocked her.
“Does it hurt?” he asked softly. “Being used again?”
“You mean like you used me?”
He gave a theatrical sigh. “Luna. You were a wildfire. But no one builds palaces with flames. I needed stone.”
“You chose a princess.”
“I chose power. And you’ve clearly done the same.”
Her nails curled into fists.
“I wonder what Kael whispers to you when he’s not burying himself inside you,” Xavier murmured. “Does he promise forever, too?”
She didn’t punch him.
But she wanted to.
Later that night, Kael was bleeding.
She found him on the balcony outside the east tower—shirt ripped, left shoulder clawed open, blood soaking down his side.
She didn’t speak.
She simply pulled him into her room and locked the door.
His body trembled as she pushed him into the chair. Candlelight flickered across his bare torso, cuts angry and red against his bronzed skin. His breaths were shallow, jaw clenched.
“Rogues?” she asked softly, dabbing blood away with shaking hands.
He nodded.
“They followed me from the eastern gate. Not Court loyalists.”
“Then who?”
“I don’t know,” he rasped. “But I know what they were after.”
He met her eyes. And suddenly the silence between them wasn’t cold anymore.
It was thick.
Dangerous.
Starved.
Her hands moved slower now—tracing his collarbone, the ridges of his abs, the smear of blood near his waist.
“You’re avoiding me,” she whispered.
“I’m protecting you.”
“I don’t need your protection.”
He caught her wrist.
“I do.”
His voice cracked. For just a second, she saw it—that raw, naked thing he kept buried under all the growling and control.
Fear.
Not of death.
Not of power.
But of her.
Of what she made him feel.
She straddled him slowly, letting her weight sink into his lap.
“I don’t care if they watch,” she said. “Let them see what you’re too afraid to claim.”
“Luna…”
She rocked her hips once.
He inhaled sharply.
“Do you want me to stop?” she whispered.
“No.”
“Then take me.”
“I can’t.”
“You already did,” she hissed. “And you keep doing it in my dreams, in my mind, in my f*****g soul.”
His control snapped.
He stood, lifting her with him, her legs locking around his waist. He pressed her against the stone wall, mouth on her neck, hips grinding hard through the thin fabric between them.
She clawed at his shoulders, dragging him closer. His tongue found her collarbone—where the bruise still lingered. He kissed it like an oath.
One hand reached under her nightdress.
No underwear.
“You waited for me,” he growled.
“Always,” she gasped.
He slid two fingers inside her, slow and deep, thumb circling her c**t.
She bucked into him, breathless.
His lips brushed her ear.
“Let me have you—quiet this time.”
She came with a stifled cry, body clenching, sweat beading down her spine.
He didn’t stop.
He carried her to the bed, dragged her dress over her head, and knelt between her thighs.
Tongue. Teeth. Hands.
Every part of him worshipped her—slowly, thoroughly, cruelly.
He didn’t let her beg.
Didn’t let her speak.
Only moan. Only tremble.
And when he finally entered her, slow and thick, she nearly sobbed from how much she needed him.
They didn’t speak again until dawn.
Wrapped in shadows, bodies sore, sweat drying between them.
She traced the cut across his chest with one finger. “You came to me, not the healer.”
“You’re the only one I trust.”
“Why?”
His eyes didn’t blink.
“Because if I fall, I want to fall into you.”
She kissed him.
Soft.
This time, not for lust.
Not for claiming.
Just for them.
Outside her window, Xavier watched from the shadows of the courtyard.
And deeper still, beneath the library stone, Alicia’s spellbook whispered open.
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