To Crown A Beast (Blackest Gold Book 4)
Page 4
When his hands found her hips, she gasped, partly because she hadn’t expected the touch, partly because she felt as if it had been so long. Just him touching her, fueled the need to believe it was him.
Maybe, maybe if she kissed him…
She licked her lips and dipped her head. First, she kissed his swollen eyelid, staying there until all the purple and blue had dissolved. His eyes opened and darkened as her lips met his.
Soft, gentle teasing of the familiar.
His hand slipped up her neck and up into her hair.
And it felt like she was finally home.
It’s Tensley.
It’s Tensley.
And on a single whimper from her mouth, he grew vicious.
The kiss was violent, powerful—and everything she needed.
She needed him—and even if he was the beast, she’d take what she could get.
Tensley.
Tensley.
Her frantic hands clawed against his taut back and he pulled her down on top of him.
She wanted to forget. She wanted to forget everything that happened within the last twenty-four hours and imagine everything was fine.
He smelled the same, masculine and heavy smoke, and he tasted like whisky and sin, and his lips moved like war, conquering and unrelenting, vicious to the core.
And she was overtaken. It felt like home.
She laid on top of his powerful frame, his fingers smoothing down her sides to her derriere, a soothing, sensual touch of a man who knew her body well.
His fingers dug into her ass cheeks and she groaned deeply. In one single movement, he flipped her onto her back, hovering above her.
She gasped, her heart galloping in her chest. His wounds were healed, the perfect complexion back, the bruises faded, and the skin mended.
His eyes were still dark coals of emptiness.
He stole her mouth in another kiss, but suddenly, it tasted foreign. A mixture of familiar and strange battled in her senses and mind, and she pulled back.
An awful tension expanded in her chest, battling, fighting for her to stay sane.
“No, no,” Molly said, and Tensley sat back as she faced away from him, her hands running frantically through her hair.
Her finger toyed with her bottom lip.
She wanted him back—she wanted him to hold her, to kiss her, to whisper her name, but all she had was emptiness.
There was no love in his touch. No care. Only a dark sort of desire.
Like she was simply something to use in order to satisfy himself.
He was an imposter, living and breathing and destroying her heart.
“I can’t,” she said in a soft breath. She shook her head and turned to face him, hoping, praying, she’d see a different man.
He stood by the edge of the bed, head raised high like a superior, those calculating eyes holding no emotion, no truth, no warmth.
“You fucked me once,” he bit out and it felt as if he had slapped her.
Her heart cracked and bled.
Her desire turned to white-hot anger and swept over her body. Sadness seeped into her bones and crushed them to dust.
The pain hit her so deeply, she knew it wouldn’t go away.
She blinked back any warmth and settled her wobbling mouth with a scowl. “You are not the Tensley I know and fell in love with. But let me make something very clear here. I do not care what I have to do, I will get your heart. I will bring back the man I love. I will do anything, even if I have to bleed for it or go to war. The heart you lost was mine, and I don’t like losing things that belong to me.”
The corner of Tensley’s mouth twitched. “Tame me then. Soothe the rage. Hush the anger. I know what you want—and that you still crave me like the whore you always were for me. Try, and we’ll then see who comes out victorious.”
And with that, Tensley left the room, shirtless, slamming the door behind him.
Molly sunk into the silk sheets, emotionally bruised. No kiss would heal her broken heart.
She clutched at her dress, the other hand pressed to her trembling lips.
The man she once kissed was long gone.
Denial was dead.
He wasn’t in there, but she’d find him.
She wasn’t giving up, wasn’t giving up hope.
She let her hands fall and fisted the covers, tears fell down her cheeks and onto the silky sheets.
Hell had a new king; and he was bloodthirsty.
THE BEAST MARCHED the golden glimmering halls, the darkness seeping into each corner of his being. Infecting his host with his wrath and thirst for power and dominance, pushing the man that once was, deeper and deeper until his voice felt like nothing more than a distant souvenir. It fed the beast, the pain, the fear, the rage…her sweet desire. He wanted more, always more. Rejection sat bitterly on his tongue, but her sweet taste still lingered, making the wrath inside of him stir unresolved.
He wanted something to destroy.
He wanted the chaos inside of him painted on the palace walls. A chaos that would plague and burn a man to ashes. A chaos that left a residue of pain and rage.
As much as he wished to have her, to feel her soft flesh against his own warred skin, the beast knew not to strike her, not to bruise her, or she’d be gone.
She held a power inside of her that kings and gods sought, fought for centuries to conquer, but even the beast knew not to battle that ancient strength. And along with that intriguing power, the beast knew that within the daemon’s womb, grew his son. He knew, because he could feel his own power echoing wildly, beating powerfully within the strong heart of his brood. A heart. The beast’s son had a heart and it confused him.
Nonetheless, whenever he caught sight of the daemon’s womb, fear and possession filled him until it was all he could see and feel. She would have to be guarded, kept safe and well. Any man or woman who threatened her would be met with his wrath.
The beast was getting restless, he was craving her, but he forced himself to stay back because he knew what the woman had done. She had controlled him, controlled his heart. With the thought, he clawed at his chest uncomfortably, a simmering, unrelenting rage brewing from deep within him. He clawed, as if he could still feel the ghost of a heart beating wildly for her and wanted to rip it out himself. The cuts weren’t deep, and healed quickly with each swipe he took at himself.
He marched the halls, his chest heavy with a burning anger that only gods held within them.
“He’s a bastard king and an insult to our court,” he heard a man’s voice faintly hiss from somewhere nearby.
He slowed, edging into the shadows, the darkness swallowing him, welcoming him, and he waited.
Monsters lurked in the dark after all, he thought with a dark smile as he watched a group of lords walk into the hallway.
“He’s a disgrace, we should lock him up and leave him to rot for his offenses,” another snapped.
“He’s heartless, is that not what we value in our people?” a larger man spoke, earning hard stares from the previous lords.
“Not one who fell from grace by the likes of a whore,” the first said back, his voice carrying through the halls.
“My lords,” Lilith’s soft voice cracked the tension between the men as she approached, touching one of their shoulders. “Do not fear. If there is one thing we know about heartless demons, it’s that they are driven by their purest, most violent emotions. They are blinded by them, controlled by them. Anger, fear, dominance, but most importantly… desire. Need,” she said with a vicious smile. “What does a beast need? What does it crave the most? More so than food and water?” She lifted her narrow chin proudly, elongating her neck, and flashed her teeth.
The men murmured.
The answer was there.
A man craved a woman.
“I will control him as I controlled my late husband and I will see to it that the whore stays far away from him,” she spoke. “We will meet later tomorrow to discuss more of this.”
A snake.
Just as she turned, she gasped at the sight of him half-hidden in the shadows. Her cheeks lost their color quickly and she fidgeted with her large golden necklace. Her collar—one that the court could see was gone since Fallen’s death. She was unmarked, unclaimed now.
“My lord,” she whispered, her eyes tracing his figure, want and desire flowing out of her like a deadly poison. He growled darkly, sending aggressive pheromones her way and stepped forward, his entire presence sucking anything happy or light into a dark vortex.
She caught her breath and he noted the slight lick to her bottom lip as she drank him in. “I enjoyed your fury today. Your fierceness to our court. It is refreshing to see a beast so vicious in every sense of the word.”
She took a gentle step forward and as soon as she touched his wrist, he felt the disgust, the rage wrap tightly around his throat and chest and he growled again.
He growled lowly enough that Lilith’s fingers dropped in shock and her eyes moved back up to his shadowy features. But the woman was not deterred, only want and viciousness could be seen within her eyes.
“Did you know a beast’s wrath can consume him if not taken care of?” she asked. “And seeing as you are not with your bride, I must assume she failed to soothe you.”
She again went to touch his arm, but he flashed his teeth and growled louder this time, gripping her wandering hand with a tight, bruising clench.
“Do not fucking touch me again, or you will regret it dearly,” he snarled in warning, lessening his grip after a while. “I may crave a woman, but it isn’t you.”
She jerked her hand back, gawking at him. A mean scowl now laced her features, but before she could say another word, he moved past her.
The beast only craved the one thing that was lethal to him, the one thing that could bend and destroy him until he begged her to do it again.
The beast would not be tamed.
Not by anyone and not by his sweet daemon.
Never again.
MOLLY MARCHED THROUGH the ancient halls of the High Court. Women stalled in their steps, turning to watch their king’s wife move on a warpath.
She needed answers.
She needed a solution, a fix, and she’d do anything to get it.
A guard stood outside of a set of French doors and he tensed, his suit of armor clanking as he set eyes on her.
“My lady,” he said, slightly bowing his head. “How can I help you?”
Molly didn’t stop. She moved past him and threw open the French doors, setting eyes on the man inside of the tousled silk sheets.
The prince laid on his stomach, asleep, the sheets tossed across his legs, but hiding nothing. Molly turned away quickly, closing the door behind her so the guard wouldn’t hear a word they were about to discuss. She moved to the large set of windows, brusquely opening the rich, embroidered drapes. The light poured in, and she heard a vicious growl coming from the bed.
“Put some clothes on, we have a conversation to finish,” Molly demanded, her eyes directed at the high ceilings.
The prince grumbled, still half asleep. From the corner of her eyes, she saw him turning slowly onto his back both of his arms resting lazily over his head.
He was completely naked, staring at her from across the room, his front on display for all to see. He seemed in no rush to do as she had asked and put some clothes on. Molly kept her eyes firmly trained on the floor.
“You certainly know how to choose your moments to make an entry, little daemon, don’t you?” he rasped, his voice still low and roughened from sleep. “If you wanted to enjoy my body, you only had to ask.”
Molly rolled her eyes. “Put some clothes on.”
He laughed, then ever so slowly got up, walking to a chair nearby, on which a pair of trousers had been slung messily and sheathed a dagger on his hip. He offered her his back as he put them on. Once she knew he was decent, she turned toward him fully.
“We have a conversation to finish,” she repeated. “About Tensley.”
She noted the ugly cut across his jaw, one left by Tensley the night before.
“You mean the possessive bastard?” He tsked. “The entire court saw it. Surely, it’s not very wise for the little daemon to be found alone in another male’s room the day after he went all beastly on said man?” he said, looking at her with sarcasm written all over his face. He moved slowly, like a lion tracking its prey. But Molly wasn’t prey.
She was the predator.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t stray too far away from your king,” he added, shrugging nonchalantly.
“And why is that?”
“Because now they know what makes the beast tick,” the prince spoke lowly, tilting his head as he scanned her face. “The one thing he still values. His mate and his child.” His eyes fell to her stomach between them.
She glared up at him. “You said last night you could return his heart.”
The prince stepped back, his fingers rubbing along his jaw. “Yes, yes I did.”
He moved to his balcony, stretching his arms to soak in the warm morning sun.
Molly fisted her hands and took a deep breath. “What’s your plan to save Tensley?”
His arms froze above his sun-bleached hair and he turned, the smugness he usually wore gone. “You do realize this will be incredibly dangerous, right?”
“You want the throne,” Molly said, her tone holding enough bite. “I want him back.”
The stone of his face melted to welcome his lazy, sensual smile. The smile of the devil. “Shall we then?” He gripped a tossed shirt on the bed and threw it on.
He moved past her, messily shoving his dress shirt into his trousers. When they passed the guard, the guard gave them a hard look.
Together, they walked the halls. An odd sight to some, but she didn’t care. Men raised their brows, the ladies sneered at her. After what had happened last night, the prince was probably right, it wasn’t particularly wise for them to be seen more or less alone together.
“The court will talk,” the prince whispered, and Molly glanced up at him.
“Yeah,” she shrugged. “I thought they might.”
“The prince escorting their king’s wife to and from. That’s sure to get their tongues going,” he said with a smirk.
She quickened her pace. “I don’t care what they think.”
He caught her wrist and redirected her down another hall, stopping in front of old wooden doors. Worn down by the years, cobwebs twisting up the carved designs of ivy cascading the length.
“Brace yourself,” he said, shooting her a cocky smile as he took out from his pocket a skeleton key, discolored and large. He twisted it, the sound of a dozen lock mechanisms turning and moving.
Then he budged it open.
Inside the massive room were shelves and shelves of books. Dimly lit by the rare sunlight sneaking through the dark heavy curtains, the room looked like it hadn’t been touched for decades.
“This was my father’s private library,” the prince commented as she edged her way through the shelves. “When I couldn’t sleep, I used to steal books from here and read them,” he continued, looking around the place with a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. Specks of dust were flying everywhere around them, Molly’s nose wiggled with the need to sneeze. “Which, in retrospective, was probably a terrible idea. These books have been hidden here, from everyone, for centuries for a reason.”
The prince walked around the room, silent in appearance but his mind no doubt racing with thoughts. He approached a particular shelf, his finger ever so slowly gliding across the spine of one of the old novels. “They are all extremely powerful, Molly. Holding too many secrets, too many dangerous threats to my father’s life, to our people, to this world.
So he banished them, hid them from everyone, even from me. But I found them anyway.” He explained with a wry smile. “I will always find what is trying to hide from me, no matter how well they’re hidden. I crave the hunt. I always have. And I never come back empty handed. That is, until a month ago.” He added after a beat, no doubt thinking about the Hunt that had taken place a few weeks ago when Molly and Tensley had first arrived at the High Court. The prince had tried to capture Molly, but hadn’t succeeded.
Molly followed behind him, watching as he started looking for something, his gaze roaming wildly over the numerous dusty books on the shelves. After what seemed like minutes, he started muttering to himself, swearing under his breath, as if he had completely forgotten her presence.
“What are you looking for exactly?”
He didn’t answer at first, his abnormally dark brows drawn in concentration. They were a stark contrast to his wild, shoulder length blond hair.
“A curse to demons,” he explained, almost whispering the words as if speaking them aloud could cause him great pain. He straightened, swore loudly this time, and moved to the next few rows.
She frowned at him. “A curse to demons?”
“Yes.”
She shook her head. “But we don’t want to—”
“Here.” The prince yanked out a dusty book, the spine tattered and splitting from the rest of the binding, pages wrinkled and torn.
He opened the book, a cloud of dust blowing into the air. When she looked at the words on the page, she frowned. “That’s… a different language,” she said, looking at the strange swirls on the paper. They weren’t even letters, more like strange-looking drawings and symbols.
“To you lowly humans, yes,” he explained, shrugging effortlessly, as if saying Molly was beneath them was simply stating the obvious. She scowled at him. He smiled playfully in return before letting his gaze wonder back to the book, and the words that were written on its pages. “It’s one of the deadliest curses known to our kind. It’s incredibly old, probably older than the existence of humans themselves, but just as dangerous to your kind,” he continued, and she could see his eyes growing agitated at the mere thought of being so close to something so powerful, so utterly final. “This spell could mean the end for a lot of people, it could mean heaven becomes hell, and hell becomes nothing but child’s play in comparison. It’s so deadly, in fact, that even most warlocks, no matter how old, powerful or how vicious, refuse to speak it.”