The Alpha King Marked Me. I Still Haven't Told Him I'm A Girl novel Chapter 72

Chapter 72: Seventy Two

Valka

Very slowly, his hand retracts from my neck. Something is happening to him. Not something. The shift. He’s shifting. His hair is way past his shoulders now, falling to his bare torso, his features starker and severe, hints of silver fur growing on his skin.

Anger completely forgotten and replaced with fear, my body quakes as he reaches for my chest, a finger hooking in the neckline of the flimsy dress and with a curious, almost reverent look, he shreds it.

Cool air kisses my skin, my nipples tightening. His claws run up the side of my neck gently, hovering over the tingling mark on my skin. Every nerve beneath my skin seems to spark and ache under the contact. "Lucien?" I breathe.

At the sound of his name, he pauses. Then blinks, brows furrowing in slight confusion. And then, he looks down at himself, at his hands, blinking again, the violet returning to his eyes briefly.

And in that moment of clarity, his eyes meet mine. "Valka," he rasps. I hear bones snapping. His. "Get out from beneath me. Please."

I nod, but the moment I shift, my hips brush against his and that small, accidental contact is catastrophic. Heat flares between us like a forge brought to life. Lucien groans, hands snapping to my waist, pinning me there. "N-not... like... that."

"Alright," I whisper, breath hitching, all the fight gone from me.

His claws curl on my waist, He dips his face into the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply, shuddering. "When the hunger comes like this, it is hard... to keep him at bay. It hasn’t happened since... Ilya." His breath ghosts over my throat, fangs grazing the tender skin there, and molten heat pools low in my belly. "I cannot... physically separate myself from you. Gods, you smell so good."

A whimper escapes me before I can swallow it back. My thighs shift, parting slightly of their own accord, and shame burns through me. His hands drift from my waist to where the dress has bunched around my thighs and the second his fingers meet bare skin, he rips them away as if burned. They slam into the bedpost instead, splintering the wood. When his gaze finds me again, it’s violet-gold and wild, his chest heaving with the force of holding himself back.

"The moment I saw you in that dress," he murmurs, voice wrecked and reverent, "I knew precisely what I wanted. I wanted to crawl beneath your skin and make a home there. I wanted to carve myself into the marrow of your bones so that even the gods would know you were mine. I wanted to brand my name into your blood until there was nothing left of you that did not answer to me."

The confession robs me of air. Rage coils with something far worse, want, as my treacherous body arches towards him.

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