TRADING MY CHEATING HUSBAND FOR THE LYCAN KING novel Chapter 95

CHAPTER 64:ASK YOUR BEST FRIEND

EMBER’S POV

For a long moment, neither of us moves. He’s still buried inside me, softening but making no move to withdraw, and I can feel his heart slamming against mine through our chests.

“Fuck,” he breathes finally.

“Yeah,” I agree.

“We should probably get back.”

“Probably.”

Neither of us moves.

“Queenie is going to be insufferable,” I say.

“Queenie can go fuck herself.”

I laugh, a real laugh, surprised out of me by his grumpiness. He pulls back to look at my face, and something soft crosses his expression.

“You’re beautiful when you laugh,” he says quietly.

The words hit somewhere soft and unguarded.

“Knox…”

“I mean it.” His thumb traces my cheekbone. “Tonight was… I liked seeing you like that. Free. Happy. Not

carrying the weight of everything.”

“It felt good,” I admit. “Dancing without worrying. Doing things I’ve never done before. Being someone I’ve

never been allowed to be.”

“You should be that person more often.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He kisses me, soft and sweet. “Now come on. Let’s go tell Queenie she can stop guarding the

bathroom door.”

I blink. “She’s guarding the door?”

“Nathaniel texted me. Apparently she stationed herself outside the moment we disappeared and has been threatening to castrate anyone who tries to enter.”

“That’s… actually really sweet? In a disturbing way?”

He laughs and carefully sets me down, helping me straighten my dress while he tucks himself away.

We look thoroughly debauched–my hair is a mess, his shirt is wrinkled, and I’m pretty sure my lipstick is

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smeared across haft his face.

“I don’t care.

I feel amazing.

We emerge from the bathroom to find Queenie exactly where Knox said–arms crossed, stance

aggressive, glaring at a line of annoyed club–goers who’ve been waiting to use the facilities.

+25 Pents

“Finally!” She throws her hands up. “I was starting to think you’d died in there. Do you have any idea how

many drunk wolves have tried to fight me for bathroom access?”

“You didn’t have to guard the door,” I say.

“Please. Like I was going to let some random walk in on you two mid–coitus. I’m a good friend.” She looks

at my disheveled state and grins. “Good?”

“Really good.”

“Then let’s get more drinks! The night is young and I haven’t embarrassed Nate nearly enough yet!”

She links her arm through mine and starts dragging me back toward VIP, chattering about how she’d give Nathaniel a lap dance and how his face turned the exact color of a tomato.

How have they survived this long as mates?

Knox follows, his hand finding the small of my back, and I let myself sink into the warmth of the moment.

Good friends. Good sex. Good celebration.

For one night, everything is perfect.

Delete

We party until my feet ache and my voice is hoarse from laughing.

Queenie makes Nathaniel do shots until he loosens up enough to actually crack a smile.

Knox bribes the DJ to play my favorite song–I don’t even remember telling him what my favorite song is- and pulls me onto the dance floor for something slower, sweeter, his hands gentle on my waist as we sway together.

Rafael disappears at some point. I catch him leaving through a side exit, his expression unreadable, and I feel a complicated twist of relief and guilt that I push away before it can ruin my mood.

By the time we stumble back toward the penthouse, I’m drunk on champagne and happiness and the feeling of Knox’s arm around my shoulders, holding me steady when my heels try to betray me.

“Best night ever,” I declare, probably too loudly.

“You said that three times already,” Queenie points out.

“Because it keeps being true!”

She laughs and peels off toward her own room with a wave.

+25 Pants

–“Get some sleep, you disasters. Or don’t. I don’t care what you do as long as you don’t text me about it

until after noon.”

Nathaniel nods at Knox–some kind of silent security communication–and then he’s gone too, leaving us

alone in the corridor outside the penthouse.

Knox keys open the door, and I’m already reaching for him, ready to drag him to bed for round two–or is it

three? I’ve lost count–when his body goes rigid.

“Knox?”

He’s not looking at me. He’s looking at something inside the penthouse.

I follow his gaze.

And everything good about this night shatters.

Rayana is on the floor.

She’s collapsed just inside the door, crumpled on the marble like a broken doll.

Her dress–white, always white–is soaked with blood. Dark spreading stains that are still growing, still

seeping from wounds I can barely comprehend.

Her face is ghost–pale. Her breathing is shallow and ragged. Her eyes flutter open when she hears us,

glassy with pain.

“Someone-” She gasps, her voice barely a whisper. “Attacked me. Stairwell. Tried to-”

She coughs. Blood flecks her lips.

“Knox’s penthouse. Closest. Didn’t know where-”

Knox drops to his knees beside her, already pressing his hands against the wounds, already shouting for

me to call for help.

His hands are covered in blood–his ex–girlfriend’s blood–and his face is a mask of controlled panic.

My phone. I need my phone.

I fumble for it in my clutch, my hands shaking, the champagne happiness curdling into cold horror.

There’s already a notification on the screen.

A text from an unknown number.

I open it with trembling fingers.

A photo. Queenie. Leaving a security office. Timestamp from days ago.

And beneath it:

HATEN 14 NI, VOUA PERY COIEND

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