Page 113 of Warrior's Reign
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He staggeredout of her room, allowing himself a moment to lean against the corridor wall because no one else was there. Balling a fist, he slammed it against the wall, needing the bright pain to clear his mind. He straightened and began to walk, each step away from her torture.
A test of his resolve.
If he took her now, hewouldhurt her, even though she scoffed at the idea. She thought him melodramatic. She didn’t know all the ways there were to wring pleasure from a female, so much pleasure until she allowed things that would make her cry when in her right mind again. Seduced into craving pain, accepting humiliation, willingly subjugating herself for just another taste, another touch.
He wanted, needed, all of that from Reign. But only when she walked into his arms eyes wide open. When she accepted that her beloved Eredan was but a shadow of his true self.
His lips curved, humorless. She didn’t know that she could break him as well. She would learn, probably sooner than he would like.
Every barrier in him was broken. Every careful layer of shielding crafted through years of training, of discipline and remorse and meditation. Hard work becoming the male and warrior his parents could be proud of. Of honoring his training and his goddess.
Everyone thought he was worthy. For a time, he'd thought so as well.
But being near Reign proved how poor his self-control ran. She made him feel every single roiling, violent, passionate emotion he'd waded in during his years co-ruling on Anthhori. The things he and Lohail had done, jockeying for power among the lords. The politics, the decadence. The sex and the substances and the blood.
He entered the bathing chamber and ordered the shower on, stepping under the icy spray. It did nothing for his raging erection and gritting his teeth, he took himself in his hand again. Imagined her scent, her lush breasts and curving hips, the rogue sparkle in her eyes and her full lips.
Imagined her taste, the spicy nectar of her honey as she came under his mouth. He'd been one nano second from plunging inside her, and had stopped only with the last fraying thread of honor left in him.
He could have had her. Could have shown her things so depraved that by morning her soul would be his. He would have been her addiction. Lohail had taught him well, a young male learning his own body. It had taken years to fully reel him in, though in Lohail’s defense, the older male had loved Vykhan in his own way. But how long had it taken Vykhan to purge the Aeddannar from his blood? Too long.
But that paled in comparison to what he felt for Reign.
He loved her, had loved her for years now. Knew it as surely as he knew he breathed. But he would not bond with her until she did so knowing full well what she risked in return. Marriage would have to suffice.
His hand moved faster and faster and with a snarl he came, a violent rush of wasted seed. It didn’t ease him. It did nothing but make him want her more.
* * *
Reign stepped into the shower, jerking at the shock of cold water. After a moment she programmed the facial spa to dissolve the makeup on her face then turned so it could strip her hair of product. She didn’t stay long—it didn’t help. Her body throbbed, and even when she tried to find relief with her own fingers, she couldn’t make herself come. Her body rebelled. It wanted Vykhan.
Eredan.
You’d think she would have had enough for the evening, but evidently not, and somehow she didn’t think Eredan would take kindly to her hunting him down for another round. Vykhan. She grimaced. Of course she had to fall in love with a warrior with multiple personalities and a tortured soul complex.
He thought she had walls? Please. They were nothing compared to his. She’d need a good night’s sleep, because when she woke it would be time to take out a chisel and start chipping. Haeemah’s mercy, he’d better be worth it.
She left the bathroom, hair mostly dry, and stopped short when she saw the male sitting on her living area couch, sipping wine.
Reign rubbed a hand over her face. “I’m tired, Lohail.”
Too tired to give a damn that she hadn’t bothered to wrap herself in a towel. And edgy. She didn’t want to be around another male right now, especially not this one, whose energy reminded her so much of Vykhan that discomfort uncoiled in her core. It felt like being in love with a man whose brother was hot, and you wanted them both. Substitute brother with ex and. . .not the vid drama she wanted a starring role in.
The ex watched her. “Hmm. Please excuse me, so rude. We haven’t had any time to truly chat and get to know each other.”
She settled on the couch opposite him, crossing her legs, tilting her head in inquiry. After a long moment, he set his wineglass down and leaned forward, reaching for a bottle and an empty glass, and poured her a drink. He did so without taking his eyes off her body.
“Vykhan,” he said, “is a fool.” He handed her the glass.
She took it, and looked down at herself thoughtfully. “I know I look good, but you’ve seen better, surely?”
“Better is simple enough to come by.” He settled back on the couch, relaxing again—except for his eyes. They sharpened on her, as bright as jagged glass. “An enhancement here or there. But rarely is natural beauty combined so well with. . .” he paused, then spoke a string of words.
She sipped her wine. “I don’t speak that dialect of Aeddannesse.” But she committed the syllables to memory. She’d run them through a translator later. Evidently hers needed an upgrade. She hadn’t bothered in years because she’d picked up on the system’s main languages manually, but there was room to expand her knowledge of dialects.
“There would be something missing in translation,” he said. “I can have any male or female or beast I desire. The most alluring, the most exotic. But spirit, Reign. . .so many of them have broken spirits. Broken, jaded, jagged. The kind of auras that leave you bleeding—and not the fun sort of bleeding.”
