To Crown A Beast (Blackest Gold Book 4)

by R. Scarlett

  “Don’t do this to yourself. Let her go, Tensley,” she said desperately, his gaze and mind still in a place far, far away. “Let her go,” she repeated, her voice at last breaking.

  Tensley’s head snapped to her and she saw the deep darkness of his eyes, a terrifying storm wreaking havoc on his soul. Or what was left of it anyway.

  Seconds dragged on until Tensley let Lilith go and she collapsed, bending over as she drew in deep, loud breaths. Her face contorted in pain as the oxygen rushed through her lungs again.

  Tensley took heavy, even footsteps forward, eyeing her. “I am your king,” he roared, the castle’s walls trembling under his wrath.

  The beast was ruled by his extreme emotions. One wrong move, he exploded like a bomb.

  Lilith nodded viciously and a second later, she gasped out of breath. She found Tensley’s hand and pressed her violent red lips to his knuckles.

  She tried to smash her worries with a shake of her head.

  Lilith’s eyes fluttered open and she stared up at him. “I will serve you, my king.” Lilith’s raspy voice sounded so raw and broken, Molly had the urge to grip her own throat to soothe the ache.

  Tensley flexed his hand and slid it out of her grip, moving back. He scanned the room, eyeing his subjects slowly. “Do not cross me and you won’t feel my wrath.”

  Each member bowed their heads, their left hands resting on their chest, a sign of submission and obedience. What was Tensley turning into…

  “My king,” Lilith sung. Molly frowned at her drastic switch. She was trying to get on his good side. Lilith edged closer, her eyes running down his tall frame. “We will have a feast. To celebrate you as our new king. So powerful, so beautiful, so deadly, they will chant.”

  Two-faced bitch, Molly wanted to spit out.

  Tensley stared at her, then nodded, turning to leave the room. Molly caught Lilith’s eye, and the sweet smile dropped to one of evil.

  Molly’s eyes flashed bright and that destroyed any trace of a smile on the queen’s face.

  She’d destroy her if she thought she could manipulate her man with smiles and sweet words.

  MOLLY SAT ON a throne of gold, seated next to the new king. Being presented like this, in front of the court, set her on edge.

  The atmosphere was toxic and heavy.

  But after Tensley’s earlier display of power, no one fought against him.

  Candles flickered high in the crystal chandeliers, darkness creeping across the paintings depicting victories battled by Fallen. Their now fallen king.

  The court members sat at long wood tables decorated with white silk tablecloths, dressed in rich gowns to display their power and wealth in court. The more gold, the more beautiful silk, the higher one appeared in court.

  Molly watched as Lilith, for the fifth time since they sat down for their feast, leaned toward Tensley, her fingers touching his wrist.

  Molly’s blood boiled, but she calmed herself. She wouldn’t lower herself to Lilith’s childish games.

  Tensley didn’t acknowledge Lilith, staring darkly at the hall before him. Like he was calculating something, like something stirred within him and he vowed to find the cause.

  As Lilith, her mouth twisting ruefully, sat back, Molly glimpsed at the people around them. It was when her eyes found one of the royal guards that suddenly, she remembered, and her breath caught deep within her throat.

  Seto…

  In the midst of everything, Molly hadn't noticed Seto’s disappearance when Fallen had caught them trying to escape. What had happened to him? Where was he? Was he…

  Her eyes found the prince.

  He watched Tensley carefully, his right hand clenching and unclenching on the edge of the long table. His smooth blond hair was tied loosely back by a leather thong, a few wavy strands framing his angular features of a demon and angel mixed to create something ethereally beautiful.

  His sharp quicksand eyes darted to her and his jaw quivered under gritting teeth.

  Tensley had gone against the prince’s bargain and now he was king. A king who wielded complete control over a court of serpents and wolves.

  But Molly didn’t understand why he hadn’t given up the throne.

  Was it the beast? Did the beast want absolute power? Did it feed off of viciousness and domination? Was it the reason why he was unable to give up the crown?

  Lilith had been right about one thing; Tensley had made it clear time and time again he wanted nothing to do with the High Court.

  Yet, here he was, the king of it all.

  Molly turned her attention back to her husband, watching him stare at his court. His hand cupped his jaw, a single finger stroking his bottom lip in deep thought.

  With a delicate touch, she laid her fingers on his wrist. “Are you okay?”

  He glanced at her, those shimmering obsidian eyes slashing into her core, taking the air out of her lungs. A look that told her he was calculating if she was a threat.

  “I’m fine,” he bit out.

  As if he had given her an electric shock, she drew back her hand.

  Sadness weighed in her heart, sinking lower into emptiness and despair.

  But pride and anger rang louder.

  She folded up her napkin, rose from her chair, and strolled away.

  Members of the court watched her closely, burning the back of her head, but she continued to walk.

  She needed air and she needed to show the court she wasn’t affected. That Tensley’s heartless self didn’t break her own.

  Walking through the open balcony doors, she gripped the iron railing and let the cool breeze assault her scorching cheeks.

  A thousand thoughts—worries buzzed in her head. Finishing school, Scorpios, the baby in her belly, and her now heartless husband. Only the thought of school seemed so ridiculous now, with everything that had happened since she had last sat in a classroom. Her life had gone to hell and back.

  She breathed out shakily and fisted her hand on the railing. She couldn’t break down. She had to be strong. She had to be strong for both of them. Her hand touched her stomach.

  For all of them.

  “My lady,” a sensual voice called to her.

  She turned to see the prince approaching behind her.

  She regarded him carefully, eyeing his own fisted hands and the pinch of his mouth.

  “Or should I call you my queen?” There was a bite to his voice and she didn’t like it. When she didn’t respond, he licked at his teeth and glanced back to the hall. “It seems though my mother has gladly continued that role to your husband.”

  Her anger flared and she noted his faint smile.

  “She is not the queen,” she said, calmly, but nothing inside of her was calm. She didn’t understand why she was so possessive.

  He quirked a brow and moved closer, with the carefulness of a predator on the hunt. “And you wish to be queen? Queen of us cruel demons?”

  She exhaled harshly. “I have no desire to be queen, but if he’s—” Her eyes dropped to her intertwined hands. “I don’t want any of this. I only want him.”

  “Then we can find a way to return him,” the prince said.

  Molly’s head jerked up. “Return him?”

  He now stood in front of her, his chest so close to warring against her own and his warm breath fanned across her fine strands across her hairline. “Return his heart.”

  Molly’s breath seemed to leave her body altogether, she gripped the railing she had been holding on tighter so she wouldn’t fall.

  “How,” she said, the cracked word barely above a whisper. She couldn’t believe it, she couldn’t…

  “After the fight, I realized the beast was in complete control of him. He’ll be provoked by anything, once the emotions take over, he can’t stop himself. But I am not a stupid man, Molly. I knew your husband, as he used to be, never wanted the throne. So today, I went in search of a solution. A cure. Anything. Anything that could possibly bring back his heart. And I might have found som
ething.”

  As Molly was about to ask more, a cry was heard nearby as a drunken couple stumbled toward the balcony. Their cheeks were flushed, the woman giggling uncontrollably as the man licked his way up her neck. She stumbled forward crying out, both of them crashing into a wall. They laughed some more as they started feeling across each other’s bodies.

  Even though the couple hadn’t realized they weren’t alone on the balcony, Molly knew what she had been about to ask the prince couldn’t be discussed near prying ears.

  And as she looked back at him, she knew he thought the same.

  “I’ll return his heart,” he whispered, his fingers skimming her bare arm and upward. “And you will return the throne to me.”

  She swallowed thickly. Her heart propelled her forward, but she hesitated. A bargain with the prince.

  “I’ll think about it,” she said with resolve and a high chin.

  The prince’s eyes darkened and his fingers moved forward, brushing across her neck, from one side of her collar, all the way to the other. She flinched, the shock of pain almost bringing her to her knees. The prince smiled darkly, a sensual laugh leaving the barrier of his lips. “With pain comes pleasure, little daemon, you only need to embrace it.”

  She frowned deeply, stepping away from him. Tensley had once explained to her this was an incredibly disrespectful act. It was strictly forbidden for a male to touch the collar on another male’s mate.

  And he had just touched the collar his king had put on his mate.

  “What are you doing?” she snapped.

  “Tempting the beast,” the prince bit out and let go. “He needs a relief, to let off some steam. I just gave him a reason to,” he said, his voice a low rumble in his chest as the sensual smile reappeared on his lips.

  A roar rang through the darkness and the prince was brutally thrown against the brick wall of the palace.

  His back arched at a painful angle and Molly watched in horror as Tensley, her husband, slashed his hands across the prince’s torso.

  The prince hissed in pain, but he didn’t falter.

  He propelled his body forward, his weight crashing into Tensley, throwing them both into the heavy, detailed railing. The force of the impact breaking it down the middle, as the cement crumbled with a thunderous sound.

  Members in their fancy silk and diamonds crept into the sight of two members of the royalty fighting with the brutality of two unfed, raging beasts.

  They probably thought this was entertaining.

  Molly wrapped an arm around her stomach, watching in horror as the two men clawed and nipped at each other like animals.

  Eyes dark as ash, bodies radiating those powerful aggressive pheromones like acid, and their teeth elongated and sharpened, ready to slash at any given opportunity.

  Wounds still fresh from Fallen’s battle reopened and blood spilled down Tensley’s side, an ugly streak forming across his white dress shirt.

  Tensley snarled and slammed his fist into the prince’s nose, an awful crack of bone and blood spluttered.

  The force of the prince’s following snarl made Molly’s blood run cold, she swallowed with difficulty. Suddenly, despite his pain, the prince moved quickly, his hand clawing at Tensley’s cheek, deep enough that flesh hung loosely, blood dripping everywhere.

  “Stop,” Molly screamed, the sound ripping through her throat. She gripped Tensley’s bicep with all the strength she could muster before he could lunge for the prince again.

  The prince, still on the defense, braced himself, growling deeply.

  Tensley stilled, but she felt his muscles flex under her grip. The one thing that told her he was still affected by her was that jackrabbit pulse against her fingertips.

  “You have no authority over me, Dux,” the prince spat.

  “Disrespect me again, touch her, go near her, even glance at her, and I’ll rip your throat out,” Tensley snapped, his teeth bared in warning.

  The prince licked at the blood on his lip and sneered, not saying a word, but staring right into Tensley’s eyes, his gaze cold and unwavering.

  She glanced at the crowd as they all stared back at her. She made sure they couldn’t see how much she wanted to cringe under their weighted stare in that moment. She knew exactly what they had witnessed because she had seen the same.

  A possessive beast.

  And she, the daemon, his wife.

  The only thing that could possibly hurt him, weaken him.

  Tensley spun, his large hand wrapping around her bicep tightly, but not enough to hurt, and moved them fast through the gathered crowd. Almost tripping over her own feet a few times as she tried to keep up.

  Once they reached their bedroom, he threw open the door and let go of her, stomping into the middle of the large room.

  She stayed by the door, trying to decipher his emotions.

  She used to be able to tell what he was thinking, how he was feeling. Now, he was nothing but an unpredictable predator, even to her.

  “He disrespected me,” he hissed, his hands rolling into fists beside him. “When he dared to touch your collar—” He swore under his breath.

  Molly’s fingertips ghosted over the collar Tensley had put on and shivered. The moment the prince touched her there, she felt the painful shock.

  Only when Tensley touched her collar did she feel absolute pleasure.

  Tensley paused, noting an envelope on the desk and she watched him rip it open. She eyed his expression as he read it, his brows furrowing and then he slammed the letter down and growled. He punched the wall, making Molly jump.

  The letter slipped off the desk and she bent, straightening it to read what it was about.

  Tensley,

  Ares has attacked again. Twelve casualties, many more missing and injured. Please come home as soon as possible. We need you.

  Your mother.

  Molly gripped her throat. Ares had attacked again and killed more. She dropped the letter, her emotions weighing her down.

  He rolled up his sleeves and popped the two top buttons of his collar. Then he busied himself with pouring whisky and downing it in one go.

  Like he was himself.

  Like he was her Tensley.

  Except, he had blood dripping all over him, and deep cuts that would need to be healed quickly or they would undoubtedly leave terrible scars.

  Except, she couldn’t forget that he had gotten so bloody to begin with.

  How he had gotten so bloody.

  Because he had no control over himself.

  Because of the heartless beast he had become.

  She shook her head, her eyes closing briefly at the thought.

  He was there, he was somewhere in there, she knew it.

  She could feel it.

  And as he drank his whisky, appearing so calm and collected, as if none of it had happened, she couldn’t help but want to help him, hold him, love him.

  …she missed him so much.

  She moved toward him, her shoes the only sound in the room.

  He poured more whisky and gulped it down, throwing his head back and gasping afterward.

  His eye caught her approaching tentatively and he turned, the ugly marks across his cheek and busted lip sending her stomach dropping.

  “You’re hurt,” she whispered, gesturing to his face and the ugly deep gash across his cheekbone, fresh blood mixing with old, crusty blood deep within the cuts.

  She shivered.

  He licked along his teeth and stared at her, as if unfazed by the damage.

  She warred with herself; her mind telling her to not be unrealistic, and her heart telling her something completely different.

  “I can heal it, if you want,” she said, softly.

  Again, he stared at her longer than she was comfortable with.

  After more time passed, his eyes became darker, his lips twisting into a frown as he lifted his short cup and downed the last drop.

  He gasped again, slammed it down on the edge of the table so it cla
nked, buzzing in the room, and turned to face her.

  His fingers moved with ease, slow and steady, undoing each button of his shirt, with those sullen eyes unmoving from her.

  She didn’t look away, but she felt the bloom of heat on her cheeks, down to her chest.

  At the sight of his exposed muscular torso, strips of muscles flexing, twisting as he rolled his torn shirt off his shoulders, her mouth grew bone dry.

  Damn hormones.

  And at the sight of the fresh vicious scar that was left from his heart being ripped out of him, her own heart sunk a little deeper within herself.

  “Dolcezza,” he murmured, creating an avalanche of shivers across her tender skin. Her eyes darted to his.

  This was the first time since he had become the wild beast that he had acknowledged her directly. And he had used the endearment he always used when speaking to her. Not as if she mattered, not as if he cared. Or as if he too remembered and craved what they once were.

  No.

  As if he was mocking her.

  And damned she might be, she couldn’t help but feel the burn of attraction, of lust, deep within her belly.

  A smirk that drove her insane and fueled her appeared on his lips.

  “You still crave me, I see. But you always craved the beast more, didn’t you?” he said, his voice dripping with a wild, dark lust that resonated deep inside her, igniting a raging fire.

  She knew this was the beast talking. And unlike before, there was certainly no hidden heart deep within him.

  She scowled and straightened, ignoring her hunger for him. “Sit down.” She gestured to the bed.

  He hesitated, not looking away from her, but finally moved to the bed, sitting down on it.

  His legs spread out, the fabric of his pants straining against his thick thighs of steel.

  She stood in front of him, and with a careful touch, she smoothed her shaking hand across his damaged cheek.

  His eyes squeezed shut at the sensation, one she felt, as her energy drained from her and into him.

  A stream of seduction, a flutter of want.