NICKOLAS
I make my way through the castle’s winding corridors, my steps heavy and my thoughts even heavier. I can still smell Amelia’s scent clinging to me like a second skin and feel the warmth of her body cradled against mine. It’s maddening, this bone-deep craving for her that seems to grow stronger with every passing moment.
Eventually, my wandering feet carry me to my study, the heavy oak door swinging open to reveal the comforting familiarity of my sanctuary. Sinking down into the high-backed leather chair behind my desk, I rest my elbows on the polished surface and cradle my head in my hands, struggling to make sense of the storm raging inside me.
I don’t like the way Amelia looked at me back there, the hurt and anger simmering beneath the surface of her carefully neutral expression. I want nothing more than to take that pain away, to open myself up to her in a way I’ve never allowed myself to be vulnerable before. But every time I try, every time I get close to letting those walls down, the fear rises up to choke me – the terror that she’ll see me for the worthless bastard I truly am and turn her back on me forever.
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t immediately register the sound of the door opening. It’s only when a familiar voice breaks through the haze of my brooding that I finally look up, my eyes finding Eric’s concerned gaze from across the room.
“I guessed I’d find you here,” he says by way of greeting, already making his way towards the chair opposite my desk.
“Why?” I ask gruffly, pulling open the bottom drawer of my desk and retrieving a bottle of whiskey and two tumblers. If ever there was a time for a stiff drink, this would be it.
“Isn’t it a bit early to be drinking?” Eric remarks as I pour two generous measures of the amber liquid, though he accepts the glass I slide across the desk to him. It’s the early hours of the morning. We traveled all night and arrived just before noon.
I arch a brow at him, taking a slow sip and letting the burn chase away some of the tension coiled in my shoulders. Eric watches me for a beat, then chuckles ruefully and raises his own glass in a mock salute.
“Fair point,” he concedes before taking a healthy swallow. “Maybe it’s not too early after all.”
“I asked you a question,” I say, my voice sounding rough and gravelly even to my own ears.
“Oh yes, you did,” he responds, sitting up. “I figured you’d be holed up in here since Amelia is clearly pissed at you about something.”
I snort into my glass, rolling my eyes heavenward. “You know, I could just as easily be here working,” I point out, though we both know it’s a feeble attempt at deflection.
“Not after that long ride home, you’re not,” Eric counters with a knowing look. “You’re not that much of a masochist, my friend.”
I open my mouth to argue but then simply sigh and shake my head in resignation. He’s got me there – the last thing I want to do right now is bury myself in the minutiae of ruling after the events of the past few days.
“Fair enough,” I concede, taking another fortifying pull from my glass.
An expectant silence falls between us, thick and weighted in a way that has me shifting uncomfortably in my seat. I know what Eric is waiting for, can see the curiosity burning in those perceptive eyes of his. But the thought of giving voice to the tumultuous events of the past hours, of laying myself bare like that…
It’s more terrifying than any battle I’ve ever faced.
“What did you do to piss her off this time?” Eric finally asks his tone a strange blend of resignation and reproach.
I wince at the bluntness of his words, feeling them like a physical blow even as I acknowledge the truth in them. Reaching for the whiskey bottle, I refill my glass and take a fortifying swallow before finally meeting his pointed stare head-on.
“It’s a long story,” I hedge, already knowing it’s a futile deflection.
Sure enough, Eric simply leans back and folds his arms across his broad chest, making it clear he’s not going anywhere until I spill. “I’ve got time,” he says mildly.
With a weary sigh, I launch into an explanation of everything that’s transpired since she stumbled into the area I was taking a shower in the forest. I don’t spare any details as I recount the way I couldn’t seem to stop myself from touching her, from surrounding myself with her intoxicating scent and the warmth of her body against mine.
The way that, despite my best intentions, despite every ounce of self-control I thought I possessed… I ended up taking her and making her mine in the most primal, visceral way imaginable.
“You didn’t,” Eric breathes when I finally grind to a halt, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and something that looks suspiciously like admiration.
I simply nod, unable to meet his gaze, as I reach for the whiskey bottle once more and refill my glass with a trembling hand. “I did,” I rasp, the words like ash on my tongue. “I claimed her as my mate in every sense of the word.”
A heavy silence falls between us, the weight of my confession seeming to suck all the air from the room. I can feel Eric’s eyes boring into me, can practically taste the questions and recriminations hovering on the tip of his tongue. But I can’t bring myself to look at him, can’t bear to see the disappointment and disgust I know will be reflected in his eyes.
“Well?” he prompts, at last, his voice carefully neutral. “Are you going to tell me the rest? Or am I supposed to guess what happened after your little… lapse in control?”
I flinch at his choice of words, the sting of them hitting me like a physical blow. Because that’s exactly what it was, isn’t it? A moment of selfish weakness where I allowed my baser instincts to take over, consequences be damned.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I force myself to recount the rest – the way Amelia had looked at me in the aftermath, the hurt and confusion writ large on her beautiful features. The cruel, thoughtless words I’d flung at her in my panic.
By the time I’m finished, my voice is little more than a hoarse rasp, my throat feeling raw and abused. I can’t bring myself to look at Eric, can’t bear to see the recrimination and pity I know will be reflected in his eyes.
“Amelia is an angel,” he says at last, his tone laced with a mixture of exasperation and grudging fondness. “If it were me, I would have cut your fucking balls off for saying something like that after taking my virginity.”
The words are like a punch to the gut, stealing what little air remains in my lungs as I finally lift my head to meet his steady gaze. “You think I don’t know that?” I rasp, my voice little more than a broken croak.
“How could you be so fucking stupid, Nickolas?” Eric continues, shaking his head slowly as he regards me with a look of mingled pity and disappointment.
“I panicked,” I choke out, hating how pathetic the excuse sounds even to my own ears. “Even without… what happened between us, she has every right to ask about the scars on my back. The second she brought it up, I just… I couldn’t handle the thought of her knowing the truth. Of her looking at me with revulsion and disgust when she learns what happened.”
Eric’s expression softens slightly at my admission, though the disappointment still lingers in the tightness around his eyes. “You don’t know that’s how she’ll react,” he points out, his voice taking on that infuriatingly reasonable tone he always adopts when he thinks I’m being particularly thick-headed.
“I don’t regret mating with her, Eric,” I continue, needing him to understand even if he can’t forgive me. “Having her, being joined with her in that way… it was everything I never knew I needed.”
I pause, struggling to find the words to explain the bone-deep ache that’s been my constant companion for centuries now. The endless, gnawing emptiness that I’ve learned to live with.
“But telling her the truth?” I shake my head, feeling the first prickle of moisture at the corners of my eyes as the words tear themselves from my throat in a ragged whisper. “Letting her see the ugliness? That’s a risk I can’t take, Eric. Losing her light, her warmth… it would destroy me in a way I don’t think I’d ever recover from.”
The silence that falls between us then is heavy, weighted down by the weight of my fears and insecurities laid bare. Eric regards me steadily for a long moment, seeming to weigh his next words carefully.
“You really don’t think she could handle the truth?” he asks at last, his voice gentle yet insistent.
I open my mouth to respond, to reiterate my conviction that no, Amelia could never accept the ugliness of my past. But Eric holds up a hand, effectively cutting off my protest before I can give voice to it.
“Lily took my story well, you know,” he continues, a wistful sort of smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “She didn’t turn away from me in disgust or horror. If anything, knowing the truth about what happened, about the things I’ve survived… it only made her love me more fiercely.”
I feel something twist deep in my gut at his words, a flicker of something dangerously close to hope flickering in the darkness of my soul. But I quickly smother it, shoving it back down into the lightless depths where it belongs.
“Lily is… different,” I argue, my voice little more than a hoarse rasp. “She understands what we’ve endured because it happened to her too. Her cousin Amelia…” I trail off, shaking my head slowly. “It will only make her realize more that I am not worthy to be hers.”
“You’re wrong,” Eric states, his tone firm and unyielding in a way that has me lifting my head to meet his steady gaze. “Amelia is not like that. She will never think such.”
I open my mouth, a thousand protests and justifications rising to my lips. But Eric simply shakes his head, effectively silencing me with the weight of his stare.
“Think about it, Nickolas,” he says, his voice taking on that lecturing tone he knows I can’t resist. “If the situation were reversed, if Amelia was the one harboring some deep, dark secret from her past… wouldn’t you want her to be honest with you? Wouldn’t you rather know the truth, no matter how ugly or painful, than live a lie?”
I think about his words and know he is right – I would want the truth from Amelia, no matter how much it might hurt to hear. I would want to know, but that’s not enough.
“I can’t risk it,” I whisper. “I can’t take the chance of losing her.”
Eric regards me steadily for a long moment, seeming to weigh my words against some unknowable inner scale. Then, finally, he nods once – a short, sharp dip of his chin that conveys an understanding of my choice.
“I will let it go for now,” Eric says, leaning back in his chair with a sigh.
“Thank you,” I reply.
“You’re welcome, and before I forget, is it because of the lords that you asked Amelia to bathe after your little tryst in the woods?”
I nod, my jaw clenching at the memory of that moment, of the hurt and confusion in Amelia’s eyes when I’d asked her to bathe. If only she knew that, I would have loved nothing more than for everyone to smell our mating on her.
“Nickolas!” Eric exclaims, his tone sharp with disbelief.
“What?” I snap, my grip tightening on my glass until my knuckles turn white.
“You already told the lords that you’re coaxing Amelia for information,” he points out, his gaze boring into mine. “If one of their spies relays back to them that you slept with her, they won’t suspect a thing. They’ll just think it’s part of your plan.”
I shake my head. “I know that,” I admit, my voice rough with emotion. “But that’s not why I don’t want them to find out about what happened between us.”
Eric’s brow furrows even further, confusion etched into every line of his face. “Why, then?” he asks, clearly struggling to understand my reasoning.
I sigh, rubbing a weary hand over my face as I try to find the words to explain the tangled web of fears and doubts plaguing my mind. “Because even if they believe it’s all part of some grand scheme to get Amelia to trust me, to reveal her family’s secrets… they still won’t be too keen on the idea of me mating with her.”
“Really?” Eric asks, his tone laced with skepticism. “Why not?”
“Because she’s my mate, Eric. It won’t be hard for her to get pregnant,”
Understanding dawns in Eric’s eyes, followed quickly by a grim sort of realization. “And as much as the lords might want revenge for their late king, they wouldn’t take the chance of you siring a hybrid heir,” he finishes for me, his voice heavy with the weight of that knowledge.
I nod, my chest tightening with a fear so potent it steals the breath from my lungs. “Exactly,” I rasp, my grip on my glass turning white-knuckled once more. “They would watch Amelia like hawks, just waiting for the first sign of a pregnancy. And the moment they suspected she was carrying my child…”
I can’t even bring myself to finish the thought, to give voice to the soul-deep terror of what they might do to her, to our unborn baby. The images that flood my mind are too horrific to contemplate, too devastating to put into words.
“They would hurt her,” Eric says softly, his expression grim with understanding. “They would see it as their duty to prevent a hybrid from taking the throne, no matter the cost.”
“I can’t let that happen,” I whisper, my voice cracking on the words. “I can’t bring any more harm to her doorstep, not when she’s already suffered so much because of me.”
Eric is silent for a long moment, his gaze searching mine as if trying to peer into the very depths of my soul. “I know you’re trying to protect her,” he says at last, his tone gentle but firm. “But Nickolas, you have to realize… the lords’ fears aren’t entirely unfounded.”
I frown, my brow furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean?” I ask warily.
“I mean that as much as you might want to deny it, as much as you might try to convince yourself otherwise… the lords are right,” Eric says softly, his gaze holding mine unflinchingly.
I open my mouth to protest, to deny the truth of his words with every fiber of my being. But something in his expression stops me, a knowing glint in his eye that sends a shiver of unease down my spine.
“No, they’re not,” I try to argue, but even I can hear the lack of conviction in my voice. “I don’t… I can’t…”
“It’s okay, Nickolas,” Eric soothes, reaching across the desk to lay a comforting hand on my arm. “These things have a way of sneaking up on us when we least expect them.”
I shake my head, a bitter laugh escaping my lips as I try to wrap my mind around the implications of his words.
“Fuck,” I breathe, the word escaping me on a shuddering exhale as I drop my head into my hands. “I’m so screwed.”
Eric chuckles, the sound holding no real mirth. “Welcome to the club, my friend,” he smiles while I remain silent, my mind reeling with the new realization I had no clue how to deal with.