Page 37 of The Lycan King's Captive

“I’m sorry,” I said directly into her mind. The most intimate form of communication I knew.

Her eyes flew open.

I nodded and repeated it out loud. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, for marking you without your consent. It’s been hell staying away from you this week.”

Her tone was surprisingly light considering the sexual tension swirling between us. “Then why did you?”

“Would you have welcomed me if I came to you?”

“Do I have a choice?” She didn’t withdraw from my touch, but her gaze fell on the tattoos that traveled the back of my hand. “Your laws seem to say no.”

I cupped her chin. “You always have a choice. From this day forward, you always, always have a choice. I’ll never deceive you again.”

Several heartbeats passed. I held my breath, balanced on the precipice while she decided if I was worthy of a second chance.

“All right,” she said finally. “Then…yes, I would have welcomed you, Cyrus.”

Joy burst inside me. It took everything I had not to sweep her into my arms and carry her straight to bed. But she deserved wooing. She needed more from me than sex right now. She needed to know how much I cherished her.

“Have dinner with me tonight,” I said. “Please.”

She smiled, and it was staggering in its sweetness. “I’d love to.”

18

ABBY

Cyrus’s private dining room was as opulent as the rest of his house. The windows stretched from the floor to the ceiling, letting streams of purple evening light spill onto the polished hardwood floors. Candles flickered on the table, which was covered in an array of mouthwatering dishes—most of which had names I had no hope of pronouncing correctly.

I sat back in my chair with a grimace. “If I keep eating like I have this week, you’re going to end up rolling me back to my room.”

Cyrus smiled. He looked insanely handsome in black suit pants and a starched white dress shirt open at the collar. Silver cufflinks at his wrists matched his eyes. “I asked Garrick and Celeste to find out all your favorites so the chef could prepare them.”

I blinked. “You told them to spend time with me?”

“Not like you’re thinking,” he said quickly. “They both like you. They wanted to be there and would have visited regardless. I just couldn’t bear the thought of you spending so much time alone. I wanted you to be happy, even if it meant just eating the kinds of food you like.”

I absorbed this explanation even as I tried not to get distracted by the way the candlelight flickered over his face, highlighting all the planes and angles. He was more than recovered from the ordeal Roman had put him through, and his masculine beauty took my breath away. Dark ink swirled over his hands and disappeared under his sleeves. But I knew what the tattoos under his shirt looked like. I’d stroked my hands over them as he plunged into me, his thick cock possessing me in a way I couldn’t get out of my mind.

His apology in the training room had been direct and simple—and delivered honestly. He’d said it in my head first, and there was something deeply touching about that, as if he’d wanted to return to the way he’d first spoken to me when I was dying and he saved my life.

“Can other lycans speak telepathically?” I asked him now.

He shook his head. “It’s a gift exclusive to my bloodline. My father could do it, and his father before him and so forth.” He pushed his plate away and settled back in his chair. “Some say it’s what originally made my ancestors kings.”

I quirked a brow. “That and your penchant for taking concubines.”

His expression sobered. “I know I can’t make things up to you, Abby, but I’m going to try.”

Out of habit, I touched the mark on my neck. “Can you reverse it?”

“No, sweetheart. The mark is permanent, along with our connection.” His gaze drifted from the bite to my chest, and his voice grew husky. “You look beautiful tonight.”

I glanced down. I felt beautiful, but that was almost entirely because of the dress. I’d found it on my bed after I emerged from my shower this evening. A diamond pendant necklace and matching earrings had been tucked in a velvet case beside it. There wasn’t much to the dress, but it probably cost more than I made in a month. The ivory color glowed in the soft light, and the slinky material clung to my body in a flattering way. The low neckline made it impossible to wear a bra, so I’d gone without, figuring no one but Cyrus and maybe a servant or two would see me.

Now that my nipples were stiffening under his regard, I realized that might have been an oversight on my part. Heat pooled between my legs, making my panties instantly damp. Wet with desire and dressed in expensive jewelry and a slip of a gown, had I become the concubine Cyrus had made me?

Or was this Stockholm Syndrome? I’d grown accustomed to my cage…and the way my captor made me feel. I’d spent so many years scraping by as I tried to make my vet practice work. Cyrus offered me a luxurious way out. All I had to do was sleep with him.

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