The Alpha King Marked Me. I Still Haven't Told Him I'm A Girl novel Chapter 157

Chapter 157: Extra Chapters (Lucien & Valka) VIII

Valka

I scream myself hoarse. At which point it finally sinks in that he’s really gone and he’s left me here to rot until he returns. Whenever that is. It is war. The timing is always unpredictable. It could last anywhere from a day to months.

Pacing doesn’t help. It only familiarizes me with my surroundings and I DO NOT want to be familiarized with being prisoner.

Eventually, my rage leads to exhaustion. And I finally look around me.

The cell is small. There’s a little bed in the corner. A table, a chair, a lamp, and a half-shelf with dusty books. Add a bath chamber to that list. I hadn’t noticed it before because the door blends seamlessly into the wall in a slate grey.

I stand, testing my restraints and sure enough, it is long enough to take me around the small room, but never to the door or the window large enough to shatter and jump out of.

Trust me, I tried for a good hour.

Finally, the exhaustion gets the better of me and I collapse onto the small bed, fatigued.

I do not realize I have fallen asleep until I hear the sound of retreating footsteps and the smell of food teases my nostrils. I blink at the door and note the tray of rich assortments of food, fruits, desserts and wine waiting just at the edge where I can easily pick it up.

I jump to my feet. "Maya? Are you there?" No response. "Let me out of here. Please."

No answer-- "I’ll get you some more water, my Lady. It’ll help you calm down. Or would you like some freshly squeezed juice instead?"

I feel like I am losing my mind. "I DO NOT WANT WATER! I WANT TO LEAVE!" I hear her run away with a whimper. Sweet fucking goddess. "Maya?" My voice fractures. "I’m sorry. Just--please. Pins. Can you bring me some pins? I don’t need help. I can pick the lock myself, I just--"

I’m talking to an empty room.

Of course they wouldn’t want to help me. No one wants to be on Lucien’s bad side.

Ignoring the tray, I sink onto the chair, trying to think, to breathe, to stop the spiraling panic. But a new terror threads through my chest, one I hadn’t allowed myself to consider.

Not Lucien riding into war. But Malachy, who will for sure, be on the front lines. And my father, who might be caught in the middle of this senseless war.

***

Worrying brings me nothing but more worry, and I can’t do a single thing to change my current situation. So, I wait.

Days turn into weeks. I spend them reading the books on the half-shelf. It’s easier because they’re all erotic tales, some on monsters, some on beings that have seized to exist since the dawn of time. When I’m not writing, I am scrawling into walls with the edge of an inkless quill that Lucien is a piece of shit. And there is no space left on the walls anymore.

And when I’m doing neither, I focus on freeing myself. At some point, I give up trying and accept that this is my new life and I’m never getting out of here until Lucien returns.

If he returns.

His hair is still wet from the shower and it runs drops down the crack in the front of his jacket. He has nothing underneath it and I watch the rivulets roll down his belly, some getting stuck between line after line of toned abs.

My mouth dries as I appreciate it him in the nastiest way possible, with my eyes. My fingers twitch with want. I have to bite my tongue hard to keep my moan down. Suddenly, I’m so parched, I want to lick every drop of water off his skin.

As if feeling my stare, his head tilts to where I stand, and the darkness in his eyes make me recoil. But he is making a line for me in long, hurried strikes, and before I can shield myself or flee, he grabs my waist and the nape of my neck, and drags my mouth to his.

It’s so sudden, so desperate, it stuns me. His hands tremble and his breaths are uneven. And I almost pity him. Almost.

But it’ll never be heard that I forget being treated like an animal. My fist tightens on the hairpin, and I slam it through his neck. I feel it the moment it pierces his flesh. And he jerks way, eyes wide as he feels for the puncture.

"Fuck you," I say, because I have too many words to say and not the patience to get them all out at once.

Elegant fingers close around the metal and he shakes his head, laughing as he tears it out. "I suppose I didn’t think it’d be that easy." The wound begins to stitch itself. "Have you been eating well? You look rather frail."

My chest heaves with rage, my fingers trembling. I look frail because I haven’t felt the sun on my skin in days! I look frail because he locked me up! But I see that he is goading me. He wants me to be mad. Because my anger has always excited him.

I whirl and begin stomping out of the hall.

"Are you doing that on purpose? Jiggling your ass like that--"