Page 61 of Beasts of Shadows #1

I’m beyond beat, and absolutely unaware of the hour, when Cat and I find our rooms.

We enter an abandoned hall.

“This was their wing,” Cat whispers, though it’s nowhere near as quiet as she intends. “Calea’s daughters. The Morrigan .”

“Bea.”

“And Macha. And Nowen. Calea’s first daughters,” Cat adds. She sobers a second, tracing her fingers over the silver crafted wolf decorating the closest door. “Macha slept here, I think. Nowen down there. That’s where I’m staying.”

“Where’s my room?”

Cat points a lazy hand back down the entrance to the wing.

“The one with the crow. Or is it a raven? I can never tell them apart.”

She drags me into a hug.

“I’m glad you’re my cousin. You keep things interesting.”

“That means a lot, coming from you,” I tease.

A grin lights Cat’s face, and she smacks my bottom.

“Away with you, then. Big day tomorrow.”

I wait until she’s disappeared into her room, before I turn and head back the way we came.

I’d forgotten that Bea was here, long before she was with Bran. That Nikolai’s father made her life a nightmare.

I wonder if there’s anything of her still in the room.

I hope the nightmares are long gone.

Drawing in a sharp breath, I slip inside.

I expect the room to be dark. To have to grope along the wall for a lantern, or stumble my way toward the bed by memory alone.

But the candelabras are already lit, their flames steady and gold, casting a soft glow across the stone walls. The light flickers like it’s been waiting for me—like the room itself knew I was coming.

And then I see why. I’m not alone in the room. Nikolai sits on the bed, watching my every move as I close the door behind me. I lean against it for support.

“What are you doing here?” I force steel into my voice to mask the rapid hammering of my heart. Not that it matters—he can probably see it through the thin fabric of my tie-dye shirt.

He crosses the floor, stopping just in front of me.

“How are you feeling?”

His hand lifts, and for a second, I think he’s going to touch my cheek. But no—he just plucks a piece of lint from my lavender jean jacket. The one Cat gave me earlier.

“Tired.” I’m thankful that the tremble in my chest doesn’t leave my voice.

“Mm.” The sound is quiet, almost tender. His eyes stay locked on mine, unreadable.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

My words are breathy. Damnit. I can’t hide how my body responds to him. Especially now, in such an intimate setting.

“Should you be partying?” His voice dips lower. “You bruised your ribs.”

I breathe in slowly, half-expecting him to ask to see the bandages—but he doesn’t.

“I’m fine.” I push past him to the other side of the room, by the desk. “Don’t worry, I’ll be good to go for your little god battle tomorrow.”

His face remains neutral, not giving me a hint of what he’s thinking.

Why can’t I be a mindreader, rather than a seer? Is he as unsettled as me? Probably not. He knew he was going to be here, afterall.

I shift my weight, eyeing the embroidered comforter like it might bail me out of this conversation.

“You don’t like me worrying about you.”

“It’s weird ,” I snap, turning sharply. “You’re supposed to tease me. Mock my mortal fragility. Roll your eyes and tell me I’m replaceable.”

Heat’s broiling in my chest. A kind of anger I could never expect. And beneath it—something smaller. Rawer. I don’t know if it’s fear or guilt or just the fact that I keep getting caught needing things from people who owe me nothing.

I bat a journal off the desk with a loud thud. Like a pissed-off cat knocking things over just to feel something.

“Sorry to disappoint,” he mutters, picking it up and handing it back to me.

His fingers brush my cheek. I pull away. Too fast.

“Why are you acting like this?” I demand.

I don’t know what I mean by this . Tender? Guilty? Like I mean something to him? Like this marriage may actually be more than just convenience?

Because I don’t. I can’t. I’m a liability, and he’s a god. We’re a contract, not a connection.

“You don’t get to act like you care,” I snap. “You can’t just sit in my room, looking at me like I matter, when you and I both know you’ll disappear into shadows the second this is over.”

“I said we’d rule together.”

My breath hitches. My throat burns. I don’t know what I want from him.

I just know I’m sick of feeling like the only one who feels anything.

“Can you just act like yourself ? The cocky, arrogant, takes-what-he-wants asshole I met at reception? The one who wanted to kill me?’

“I was never going to kill you, Nari,” he laughs. His face is so light, so young, when he smiles.

The force in my chest is withering. I need to get this back on track, before it gets carried away.

I lift my chin in defiance. “I hate you,” I hiss. “I hate every stupid , pompous inch of you. I hate you so much, I just want to—.”

He catches my face in his hands before I can finish and kisses me.

Yes .

I melt. My arms drape around his shoulders before I can stop myself, dragging him closer.

Oh, it’s so much better than that first time. On Samhain. That had been sloppy. Dazed. Arousing, sure, but he clearly didn’t care what he was doing.

But this?

This is precision. Purpose. He knew exactly how he’d kiss me when he finally got the chance again—and gods, he’s making it count.

His lips press against mine with maddening slowness. Not tentative. Not unsure. Just… measured. Controlled. Like he’s holding himself back, dragging it out on purpose, savoring my reaction.

My whole body aches for more. My mouth opens under his, and he doesn’t rush. He deepens the kiss deliberately—tongue brushing mine in a way that feels devastatingly intimate.

He knows exactly what he’s doing.

He knows exactly what I want.

My hip crashes into the desk. Then we fall into the wall. Something rough and needy has clearly drowned his worry for my health.

His tongue sweeps over my bottom lip—just once. He waits.

I lean forward. He leans back. Just out of reach. His smirk is maddening. Infuriating.

“You want me to beg,” I whisper.

“I want you honest,” he says. “With yourself.”

My answer is wordless. I grab the front of his shirt and drag him down to meet me.

His lips part against mine, teeth grazing. My pulse pounds between my legs.

What am I doing ? Is this how I want to spend my potential last night alive? With Nikolai .

Yes. A thousand times, yes.

But should I? Is that smart? What if this is some sort of strategy to distract me? He could want me to lose tomorrow. Nikolai has a reason for everything, and it’s always about himself. There has to be a trick here, somewhere.

“Stop,” I pant, shoving against his chest. His lips hover a breath from mine. Waiting. Watching.

I cover my still swollen lips with my hand, as if I’m trying to swallow back the truth of what we just did.

“This is insane.”

“Tell me you didn’t like it.”

I don’t answer. He’d know if I lied anyway.

“This changes nothing,” I warn. But I don’t move. And that’s enough for him to take another step forward.

“You’re my wife.” His hands return to my face, gentle this time. He doesn’t kiss me again. Fuck, I want him to. I arch closer.

He’s close enough to feel my heart battering against my ribs.

“We promised it…” my breath hitches when his mouth contacts my throat. I squeeze my fists and eyes to keep from relenting. “We promised we wouldn’t get physical.”

His forehead rests against mine. His lashes tickle my skin when he closes his eyes.

“Morsel, I really don’t want to stop. Please don’t tell me to stop.”

The third “please” of the evening. My resolve wavers.

“There’s no coming back from this.”

It’s my last attempt, and there’s no strength behind it.

My lips raise to meet his, and that’s it. I have no resistence left. We both want this. Is it going to be a mistake? Probably. But I need this right now. The reminder that I’m still breathing. That we still have tonight. And tomorrow. Each other.

If we want it.

His lips roam lower—to my throat, to my collarbone. Hands slide from my face to my throat, then further, tangling the vee of my tee as he drags me closer.

My skin ignites under him.

“Niko,” I say, voice strangled. But he doesn’t stop. And maybe I don’t want him to.

It’s just a one-night thing , I lie to myself as he slides off my jacket. It means nothing .

He’s addictive. Illegal. Like the first sip of vodka; the first puff on a joint.

“I’ve dreamed of you,” Nikolai murmurs against my lips. His fingers tangle in my hair. My shoulder hits the wall, sharp and sweet.

I want to tell him I’ve dreamed of him, too. But the words are caught in my throat, imprisoned by a tongue suddenly very busy.

We maneuver toward the bed. My calves hit the edge of the mattress, and I collapse onto the silky black sheets. He pulls at my shirt. It comes off in his palm. I’m half-naked beneath him, breath shuddering like I’m running a race I never want to end.

His gaze softens at the sight of the bandages just under my pink bra. Then darkens.

“When I saw you fall…”

He doesn’t finish. His fingers skim the bruised skin, like a warning. Or a promise. I flinch at the sting—but it only makes the next kiss hungrier.

His tongue tastes like regret. Like revenge. Like every nightmare and dream I’ve ever had of him colliding.

“I don’t want to talk about that,” I pant, tugging at his own tee. He strips it off, and gods—.

My hand drags across his chest. Every line is defined, like the deity that he is. Our eyes lock.

“Is it true what you said before?” I murmur.

“What?”

“That women have been known to call you ‘God’?”

Nikolai stills. Is he going to pull away?

No, he can’t. Not now.

I trail my fingers down his chest, take the waistband of his jeans, and undo the button.

He releases a chuckle. “Why don’t you tell me when we’re finished?” he pants.

He strips. I do too. Before he can take control, I push him onto his back and take his cock into my mouth.

His groan sends heat down my spine. One of his hands fists in my curls.

“This,” he gasps. “I’ve wanted this. You. For so long.”

I quicken my pace, and his grip on me tightens.

When he’s close to coming, he yanks me back to him. His palm guides my hips above his, and before I can think—.

He thrusts inside. I gasp against his neck, tightening my walls around him.

When he starts moving under me, his grip locked on my hips, I’m gone .

We writhe. I claw for the headboard. The pace grows brutally delightful.

“Harder,” I beg. His mouth devours mine.

When I come, it’s a riot.

I claw the sheets, back arching into him like a livewire, and I hope he knows the sob ripping from my throat is pleasure, and not pain.

My thighs shake. My vision whites out. I moan his name like a curse. Like a prayer.

“You were right,” I purr at his ear. “You’re a god .”

“Then kneel again,” he says, mouth curved wickedly. “And remind me why I made you my queen.”

I roll onto my belly with a laugh. He takes over, chasing his own release. Faster. Deeper.

The sound he makes when he comes—guttural, raw—shakes me to my bones.

He falls onto the bed beside me, and we both study the ceiling, catching our breath.

“You’re not going to die tomorrow.” Nikolai says, once his chest has stopped heaving.

“No?”

“No,” he agrees, tracing circles up my thigh. Everything tingles. I ache for him all over again. “I’m not done with you yet.”

I appreciate the sentiment, but all it does is remind me all over again how selfish and unfaithful deities are.

“Oh?” I try to sound teasing, hoping he can’t hear the pessimism gripping my soul. “And when you are done with me?”

His expression grows solemn in a way I don’t ever remember seeing before.

“Tha mi nam dhuine damnte airson gaol a thoirt dhut,” he whispers, curling against my spine.

“What does that mean?” I dread his response. This must be some sort of riddle. Something I need to solve to keep him forever.

Is that what I want? Forever’s a long time, but for right now, it sounds like paradise.

“I’m a damned man.” His voice is cautious. Almost embarrassed. “For loving you.”

I force myself to groan into the pillow, even though I want to kiss him all over again. “You don’t love me, Nikolai.”

“I’d worship you. If I could. I’d worship this body—.”

“You already do,” I whisper.

He stills.

“Even when you hated me.” I trace the sweat on his chest with one finger. “Even when you tried not to look.”

“Especially then,” he murmurs.

“But love and lust aren’t the same,” I cut in. “And only one of them is real.”

His hand goes still on my hip.

“Maybe you’re right,” he says quietly. “Or maybe you’re afraid—.”

“Why would I be afraid?” I roll toward him, fixing him with a sharp look.

“Because caring about people gets them taken away.” I swallow at the truth in that. The spot-on, absolute truth. “And you’re not willing to be vulnerable like that again.”

“A nice theory,” I choke out, unwilling to admit he’s right.

Nikolai becomes silent for so long, I fear he’s fallen asleep.

But then he rubs his cheek against my back, pulling me closer.

“Let’s see what tomorrow brings.”

#

A vision grips me in the middle of the night.

It’s so violent, so revealing , that I can’t help but stumble from Nikolai’s arms, out of the bed, and stagger toward the exit.

It’s just like with Ravi. When I was so certain he would help and the world.

How did I not see this sooner?

I knock something over in my haste, and the noise alerts Nikolai.

“Nari? Is everything okay?”

“I need to see Malec.”

Blinking through the darkness, I can see when he sits up. Moves toward me.

“What could you possibly need to see my uncle about?”

“His son, I think,” I admit, taking Nikolai’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “And the other demigod.”