The Alpha King Marked Me. I Still Haven't Told Him I'm A Girl novel Chapter 155

Chapter 155: Extra Chapters (Lucien & Valka) VI

Valka

I don’t know how I found his home in that state. Or how I knew he was there. I only know my feet carries me, my body pulled by a string towards him, like we’ve been attached at opposite ends and that thin line is another hard yank away from snapping.

Down, further down the hall, I track his scent. The maids don’t stop me. If I was willing to be delusional, I would think they looked pleased to see me. But I couldn’t see or think of anything past the pangs of hunger pulsing in my stomach.

I hear them just as I round the corner. Soft laughter. Female. Lucien’s deep voice and his resounding chuckle. The soft sigh of fabric against skin, the rustle of more clothes.

My steps nearly falter. What did I think would happen? I’ve been gone for so long, the head cook now has a full head of grey hair. Did I think he would look for me? Wait for me? Is that what I’d hoped for when I left without wiping his mind clean of me?

Jealousy is an ugly emotion boiling in my stomach. It grows poisonous, infectious, irrational, and rather than turn back on my heel and return to Silvermoor, hoping and praying that Malachy won’t be overly pissed and overlook what I’ve done to him, I walk to the study.

I take in a lot in the second I stride in.

The study has hardly changed, though, there are more paintings on the walls now. My mind vaguely registers that they look familiar, but my brain shuts off in the next second.

The woman with Lucien is lean and tall, a olive skinned and dark haired wild beauty. She is dressed scantily. Or rather, the rest of her clothes are strewn about the study and she is in the act of taking off her chemise when I stride in.

The soft, white silk is well past her waist, sinking in a pool around her feet and her naked body is sculpted divinely like every man’s erotic dream.

Lucien’s seated on that large chair at the head of the long table, a goblet of wine being swirled in his fingers. His eyes are more clinical that lustful as they track over her curves. I see the contemplation in his eyes. I see annoyance. And I see bitterness. I also see that if I hadn’t walked in, he might have given in to it, perhaps, out of curiosity. Perhaps, out of spite because I know he’ll never stop thinking about me. I’m not sure.

I smell lust in the air. And I know my presence is more of a disturbance than anything.

But I haven’t been myself in days. The jealousy I feel is not normal. It makes me feel like tearing down the walls of this little castle. It demands pain. It demands penance. It demands destruction. It demands I mark my territory, permanently.

My vision hazes between red and bright as I fight the sudden bloodthrist. This isn’t right. I shouldn’t be here. I should be with Malachy. We should have been wed days ago and I should be in his home, not here.

But in the moment they both notice me, that moment Lucien’s head jerks up and he turns his face to me, I lose the fight against morality, against what’s right and wrong.

My instincts control me. Not Ilya. I don’t even feel her in my head when I decide that this--whatever this is--it’s never happening. He doesn’t get to forget about me when I can’t even last one night without being tortured by his absence.

"Who--"

I cross the room slowly.

Lucien’s violet gaze turns stormy, but they never leave my face as I close the distance, halting in front of him. "I didn’t give you leave to interrupt me."

I lean over him. Even sitting, he’s nearly towering over me. My fingers grip the front of his tunic, yanking him closer. "Fuck your leave."

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