Page 70 of The Flame King's Captive

Is this what he meant, that I would get drenched between my thighs because of him?

Zabriel stares down between us, a worried frown on his brow. “I hope I didn’t hurt you. Was that too much?”

“I’m not hurt,” I say. He looks so beautiful with his robe pooling around his waist, and I feel utterly humiliated as I stare at his perfection. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

“I doubt that you have anything to be sorry about right now, but tell me what’s wrong.”

“I…”

But I don’t have time to reply because there’s a trickling, dripping sensation, and Zabriel feels for himself what’s happened. His face transforms in shock and his fingers curl between my thighs, seeking what I’m trying to hide from him. “Oh, fuck. Your slick. It’s all over me.”

Mortified, I clench my legs together.All over me.Could this be any more excruciating?

“Sha’len,” he breathes, gazing at me with adoration. “Precious little dragon. This is wonderful.”

Occasionally some of the women in my village would make roguish remarks aboutgushing like a streamdown therefor their husbands, and others would giggle in a way that told me they were talking about what goes on in a marriage bed. I’ve noticed that after spending time with Zabriel on a handful of occasions, I’ve been a little too liquid between my thighs, but I brushed that aside as nothing important. Now I’ve gushed right through my chemise and all over his thighs.

This isn’t a stream. It’s a waterfall.

“I have to go,” I moan. “I need to hurl myself off the stone bridge and into the valley beside the dragongrounds.”

He grasps my waist and begs, “Please don’t go,sha’len. And definitely don’t hurl yourself off anything.”

But even a man as strong and determined as Zabriel can’t keep me in his lap, and I scramble to my feet. There’s a shiny wet patch on his robes the size of his hand.

I moan in horror at the sight. “I can never show my face again. I wish Scourge were here so he could incinerate me with one blast of dragonfire. I’m so sorry.”

He touches the wet spot on his robes and then clenches it tight in his fist, and when he gazes up at me, his expression is feral. “Sorry? You’re sorry? Fuck sorry. This is the most wonderful thing I’ve ever seen. Ever felt. My Omega’s first slick. Come. Here.”

I shake my head, backing away, and Zabriel gets to his feet, his robe falling off his top half completely and only held up by the tie around his hips. As he advances on me, the thin fabric flows around his thighs, and something large and thick protrudes there. His cock. Hisknot.

Even filled with burning hot embarrassment, I crave to touch him. I want to grab his hand and drag his fingers against my aching sex while he whispers sweet, filthy words of praise in my ear. I want to wrap my hand around his knot and hold on tight.

Everything is happening too fast. How did I go from thinking he was handsome to making a mess all over him in twenty minutes? I should be beaten. I should be crying and begging for mercy as I bleed. I deserve it.

“Please don’t,” I beg him, backing down the steps.

“You won’t let me feel you? You won’t let me soothe some of that aching that I know you must be feeling?”

I shake my head desperately. “I want to go back to my room.” Tears well in my eyes and drip down my cheeks.

Zabriel’s predatory advance suddenly halts, and he seems to shake himself. “You can go. Of course I will let you go, but I’ll escort you.”

“You don’t—”

He suddenly growls, “If you think I’m letting my mate walk around alone with her slick coating her thighs, herfirstslick, you have a lot to learn about Alphas. Walk. I’ll follow.”

He picks up his gold cloak and drops it around my shoulders. As I head back to my room, Zabriel’s footsteps sound behind me. The urge to turn and fling myself into his arms is strong, but that urge seems to belong to that strange, panting voice I heard, while my shame and embarrassment are all mine, and it’s stronger.

The moment I reach my room, I close the door without looking at Zabriel and remember to lock it this time.

Zabriel speaks through the wood. “This is your designation emerging. This is who you are, Isavelle. You’re beautiful, every part of you. I crave you so much. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

I take off my soaked chemise and wash myself with a cloth and cold water from the basin. My designation. I don’t know what that means. Why doesn’t my body feel like my own anymore?

Once I’m dressed in a clean, dry nightgown, I glance at the door and realize I never heard his footsteps receding. I go over and touch the wood. “Are you still out there?”

His reply is immediate. “Of course I am. There is no other place for me to be than by your side.”

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