The Alpha King Marked Me. I Still Haven't Told Him I'm A Girl novel Chapter 100

Chapter 100: One Hundred

Valka

Tug. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

Tug.

Tug.

I toss in the soft mattress, groaning inwardly at the pull from the bond, demanding I get out of bed, find Lucien and make myself at home in his bed instead. I shut my eyes, grumbling. It was never like this with Rafe. The bond is a living thing tonight--pulling, needy, insolent--like Lucien has taken on a voice that lives in my head and won’t shut up.

Shutting my eyes and hoping to catch some good sleep for the first time in days only makes that string curl tighter and I throw the covers off like a woman lit on fire. Snatching the robe from the stand, I wrap it around myself and storm from the room.

I’m only going to check if he’s alright.

It’s nothing special. Not a big fucking deal. A quick peek, that’s all.

I shut the door to the guest chamber behind me and a draft of cool air hits me. Something about the way this place is built makes it safe from the elements outside, warm and homely. I stare down the dimly lit corridor, noting the emptiness of it. It is so unlike the castle, where no one sleeps. It is peaceful, so quiet, I can almost hear the even breaths from the other side of the door across mine.

I contemplate turning around and heading back to bed, but I know sleep will remain a fantasy until I go in there like the bond wants me to. And far more than I’d like lately, I’ve been finding less and less reason to fight the bond. Suddenly, losing myself doesn’t seem all that bad, if I get one more moment with him. One, wild passionate moment I can actually remember this time.

My tongue darts out to wet my dry lips and I take a tentative step forward. Then another. The door is silent is I twist the knob, slipping inside the vast chamber.

The moon light flits in from the tall windows, the fire in the hearth burning a little too warm. The light casts a golden glow at Lucien’s figure, laid on the right edge of the bed. At some point, he must have pushed off the blankets, because now he lays completely bare on the white, silken sheets.

I thank the gods that I’m leaning against the door, because I have no idea what’s come over me. He looks much better now, the holes completely healed from his skin, an indication of the poison gone from his bloodstream. He lays still, chest rising and falling gently, lips parted slightly as he snores. Not loudly. It is a soft sound and gods help me, something warm fills my chest at the sound of it.

Alright. My work here is done. He’s alive. Not dead. I should most definitely leave.

But do I?

Nope. Nope. Nope.

I start thinking the strangest things. Like making him more comfortable. Like how his neck will hurt when he wakes from sleeping at that off angle. At how he might be cold. And then, I’m walking across, bare feet tapping against the ground. I grab the covers and bring them over his naked skin.

A breathy sigh escapes him and his head lolls left, his hair fallen over his cheek. A shadow of a stubble has formed under his chin and over his lips and it had never occured to me that he probably shaved every other day to keep his face smooth.

How would he look with a beard? Less pretty? More manly?

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