Page 14 of Possess Me at Midnight (Doomsday Brethren #4)

Chapter Twelve

S abelle hasn’t spoken the Binding words. She isn’t mine. And her tone warns me that, despite the desire flooding her veins, despite the way her body arches toward mine like a flower to the sun, and despite everything between us that feels fated and inevitable…she likely never will be.

The realization is a wound deeper than any blade could inflict.

“Ice…”

The sound of my name on her lips—thick with desire yet tinged with doubt—stops me cold. I look up from between her thighs, my mouth watering with anticipation of tasting her essence. The fear there slams into me like a physical blow.

Pain gashes my chest, and I close my eyes, fighting the instinct screaming at me to claim her, to make her mine now. My muscles lock in place, tendons straining with the effort not to surge forward.

“Princess, don’t. I need—” My voice emerges as a guttural plea, raw and unfamiliar to my own ears.

“Which is why I can’t do this to you,” she says, scrambling out from under me and securing her dressing gown around her again.

The silk whispers against her skin, concealing what I just revealed, the heaven I was so close to claiming as mine.

“I’m sorry. It was unfair of me to lean on you, to kiss you, when I can’t answer your Call. ”

The withdrawal of her heat and softness leaves me cold. I shove away from the table, not giving a damn that my hard cock so obviously tents my robe. The throbbing ache between my legs is nothing compared to the vise crushing my chest.

“Can’t?” The word explodes from my throat, harsh and demanding. Every muscle in my body coils tight, ready to spring. I take a measured step toward her, nostrils flaring as I catch the lingering scent of her arousal mingled with fear. “Or won’t?”

Her eyes, those bottomless blue pools that first drew me in, dart away from mine. She wraps her arms around her middle as if trying to hold herself together. The firelight catches in her golden hair, turning it molten, a crown befitting the princess she truly is.

“I…I’m completely confused.” A tremor runs through her. “Bram will never approve…and yet, I’d be lying if I said you didn’t beguile me.”

Beguile . Such a pretty, privileged word for what burns between us. This isn’t some gentle enchantment—it’s a fucking inferno threatening to consume us both. Still, even that small admission ignites a dangerous flare of hope inside me.

“We are meant to be.” It’s not a plea but a statement of absolute fact, as undeniable as the moon’s pull on the tides. I clench my fists at my sides, fighting the urge to cross the room and haul her against me, to make her feel the rightness of our bodies pressed together.

“I’m not certain we can be!” A tear makes a silvery path down her face and ignites fire in my guts.

That single drop from her eyes undoes me more than her naked body ever could. The proud, fierce princess I’ve watched from afar—always composed, always dignified—is breaking before me. Because of me.

Something dark and primitive rises in my chest, demanding I eliminate whatever causes her pain. Even if that something is the truth. Even if that something is me.

The muscles in my jaw work as I swallow back words that would only wound her further. Pushing her is both pointless and painful—for us both. I need to stop.

“Do what you know you will eventually,” I growl, the words scraping my throat raw. “Renounce me.”

The words hang between us, heavy and final. To hear her speak the Renunciation will shatter me, yet the waiting—this limbo—might be worse. At least with her rejection, I can begin the endless process of learning to live with the gaping wound where my heart once beat.

Slowly, she shakes her head, golden curls catching the firelight.

“Please don’t make me. I’m…not ready to let you go.

” Her voice breaks, and with it, something inside me cracks open.

“I know that sounds terribly selfish but…not yet. I’d like to know you better, see how we can get on together.

” She sighs, her small shoulders slumping under an invisible weight. “I want to talk to my brother.”

The mention of Bram sends a surge of black rage coursing through me. My vision darkens at the edges, a feral growl building in my chest. Of course. Her precious brother. The man who would trade her happiness for political advantage without a second thought.

“You know Bram will never approve.” I curse, the word slicing through the air like a blade, and she jumps at the ugly sound.

My control slips further with each passing second.

I take a step back, putting distance between us before I do something we’ll both regret.

“Sabelle, a wizard’s mating instinct doesn’t lie.

I’ve never professed undying devotion for anyone. Until you.”

The confession costs me, strips away another layer of armor I’ve built over centuries. I’ve never been this exposed, this vulnerable.

“I’ve never even understood why wizards bothered to mate. Until you.” My voice drops, roughened by emotion I can barely contain. “I can accept the fact you don’t know me well enough yet to trust my instinct. I can’t accept that you’re ignoring your own heart and would bow to Bram’s will instead.”

Sabelle crosses the distance between us, her bare feet silent on the wooden floor.

She grabs my hand, and the connection jolts clear through my cock and winds its way to my heart.

Her touch sears through me, awakening every nerve ending.

For a moment, I allow myself to savor it, to memorize the feel of her fingers against mine.

“He’ll disown me if I do,” she whispers, her eyes pleading for understanding. “Times are difficult with Mathias free. It’s entirely possible that to cement Bram’s political advantage and keep magickind from falling under Mathias’s spell, I’ll need to mate with the son of a Council member.”

Not an impoverished Deprived everyone believes mad. The unspoken truth hangs between us, another barrier among many.

The thought of Sabelle with another wizard—some privileged Council prat who will never appreciate her fire, her courage, her heart—makes my blood boil. My fingers tighten around hers, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind her of my presence, my claim.

“Who? He’s got Sterling MacTavish in his pocket.

And since Tynan O’Shea has joined the Doomsday Brethren, I’ve little doubt his grandfather Clifden will side with your brother as well.

No sense in you mating with any male in those lines.

” The political machinations sicken me, but I force myself to think through them.

“Thomas MacKinnett had no children, other than the daughter Mathias murdered. So who?”

She shrugs and looks away, a flush creeping up her neck. “Sebastian Blackbourne or Rye Spencer, I suppose. We…never actually discussed names.”

The casual way she speaks of being handed off to another wizard like a prize broodmare ignites my temper anew. My vision flashes red. I struggle to maintain control. Neither wizard deserves to touch her.

“So you’re going to let your brother pawn you off on another Privileged prick, even if he has no instinct to mate you, so Bram can secure his power on the Council?

” I can’t keep the disgust from my voice.

I wrench my hand free and cup her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze.

“Regardless of whether you’re happy? Are you willing to sacrifice the rest of your life for his ambition? ”

Fresh tears spill from the dark fringe of her blue eyes, each one a dagger to my gut. “You make him sound so calculating. He’s trying to prevent Mathias from taking over and killing all who oppose him.”

That’s likely how Bram sees matters. He fancies himself as a hero. Admittedly, he’s one of the few who have both the privilege and the authority to mount the defense necessary to stop Mathias from rising to power. But fury scalds my veins at the chains of duty and expectation he’s bound Sabelle in.

I lift a skeptical brow. “Is he?”

“Of course. Do you understand what’s at stake?

This isn’t merely about you or me—or even Bram.

The Council is fracturing over what to do about Mathias.

Some members believe Bram is overreacting or even lying about the threat, so they’re voting to ‘study the situation’ more.

They’re refusing to act, which blocks any defense and ultimately helps Mathias.

If he manages to sway enough votes his way, he can railroad through any policies he seeks, and nothing—short of war—will stop him. ”

Does the witch think me a simpleton? “I understand Council politics, princess.”

“Then you should grasp that these political matings create alliances that secure votes. Every Council member Bram brings to his side is one less for Mathias to corrupt. But if we lose, Ice…if Mathias manages to press the majority under his thumb, magickind is finished. That’s why my choice of mate matters so much.

The decision is bigger than anyone’s feelings.

It affects all magickind and its future. ”

Her voice is tight with both passion and fear. I’ve spent centuries despising the Privileged and their political games, and I can’t deny the threat Mathias poses…but Bram really expects his sister to forfeit her future happiness for him?

“Can you look me in the eye and tell me your brother isn’t ambitious? That he doesn’t want to ascend from magickind’s prince to its king?”

“Not the way you mean.” Her voice trembles. “Please understand.”

“You sacrificing your happiness is something I never will.” I release her and step back, the loss of contact like a physical ache.

End of conversation, at least for now. If I continue to malign the brother she reveres, she’ll Renounce me on the spot.

As matters stand, I have only the slimmest hope that she’ll ever consider my Call.

The primal part of me—the part that recognized her as mine after a single taste—rages against my restraint, demanding I take what’s mine.

“Ice—” Her voice softens as she reaches for me.

I cut her off before she weakens my resolve. “We will leave before dawn to ensure the Anarki don’t spot us. I suggest you retire to your room, princess.” The title falls from my lips, no longer mocking but possessive, a reminder of what she is to me regardless of her decision.

“Or?” She crosses her arms over her chest, golden hair clinging to her shoulders. The challenge in her voice stirs the beast within me.

My gaze rakes over her, from the elegant curve of her neck to the swell of her breasts beneath the silk, to the glimpse of shapely legs where the robe parts. Heat pools in my groin, my cock hardening painfully against the constraint of my own garment.

“You’ll spend every remaining moment of this night naked and under me. Your choice.” It’s an empty threat, and I know it. I’d never force her. But fuck, how I want her to choose me, to give herself willingly.

The air between us thickens, charged with possibility.

Sabelle’s rosy mouth parts, forms an O. Her cheeks flush, the pink stain spreading down her neck to disappear beneath her robe.

I don’t have to sniff to scent her arousal—it perfumes the air, teasing my senses, calling to everything primitive and uncontrolled within me.

My good intentions teeter on the edge of a precipice. She has three seconds to leave the room…or I fear the feral side of me desperate to take my mate would obliterate all good sense.

Standing utterly still, I begin counting in my head. One … She puts a hand to her chest and stares straight at me with a hot, torn gaze. Two … I clench my hands into fists and step forward, beyond ready to rip the dressing gown from her body and carry her to bed. Three …

The seconds stretch into eternity, the entire universe condensed to this moment, this choice.

“Good night,” she murmurs as she steps back, grabs the Doomsday Diary, then retreats into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

The soft click of the latch might as well be the slamming of a tomb. I’m frozen, every muscle rigid with unsatisfied desire and thwarted need. The beast inside me howls for release, for pursuit. But the man—what’s left of him—knows better.

I’ve spoken the Call. The choice is hers now.

We’ll see what tomorrow brings.