Page 51 of The Unwanted Mate of the Lycan Kings (Unwanted #1)
Reluctantly, I climb the stairs back to the bedroom quarters while pondering what my chances are of Zeke letting me sleep in my room since he now knows his mate is alive and out there somewhere.
Managing the stairs proves quite difficult.
I feel queasy and anxious and regret not grabbing a bread roll or something.
Now that the adrenaline rush of events is over, I feel light-headed as I stumble up the stairs, trying to hold what remains of my pants and clutch my shirt closed.
If he doesn’t let me sleep in my room, maybe he’ll at least let me get some of my clothes. Those thoughts diminish when I find him waiting for me at his door, his gaze cast down the corridor to Regan, who is just stepping into his room.
When I move closer, he pushes his door open, motioning for me to enter, and I groan, knowing my chances just went out the window. “I see my brother came to his senses,” Zeke taunts.
I roll my eyes, pushing past him and entering his room to find Hunter in his crate where Zeke locks him to stop him from getting to me. The door closes with a bang that makes me jump. I feel like I’ve walked into a predator’s den unarmed, looking like a delicious steak to a starved animal.
“You don’t seem happy about Regan’s dismissal of you.” I say nothing. I dismissed him, but he can believe what he wants. It changes nothing.
“After the dramatics downstairs, I expected you two to be running off into the sunset. Yet he didn’t bother to say a peep when I told him my plans for us tonight, seemed rather angry actually,” Zeke presses.
“Glad you enjoyed the show, is it bedtime yet? I rather get tonight over with,” I deadpan.
Zeke chuckles and moves to stand in front of me. His hand grips the wrist that’s holding my shirt closed, and he yanks, but my grip doesn’t waiver. Unfortunately, the shirt tears apart, leaving a fragment of fabric clutched in my fist.
“I could heal you, but I think we’ve passed the point of niceties.” He laughs while I glare at him. My breast is throbbing steadily like a heartbeat, and the tracks he carved into my skin are still bleeding, though some have started to clot.
“You really must have upset him to leave you in this state.” I sigh, moving toward his closet and grabbing a fresh shirt. “Are you forgetting something?” he asks.
“What, should I bother asking? Should I say please?” I retort, ripping it off the hanger.
“No, take what you want, but I see no point ruining another shirt when you still have to bathe me,” he mocks, shoving past me and into the bathroom. I glare at his back.
“You have a mate who’s still alive. What’s the point in keeping up with the games?”
“Well, just because you’re of no use to me doesn’t mean I am not going to play by the rules,” he tells me, twisting the taps to fill the tub.
I roll my eyes, tossing the shirt aside, knowing it will get wet, but grab a pair of pants before moving back to the room.
I tug them up while listening to Zeke rummaging around the bathroom.
“Zirah, grab my towel. It should be hanging on the wardrobe door,” he calls out from the bathroom.
I shake my head but get up to grab it, not caring to fight with him.
When I do, I try to figure out what to do with the vial.
My eyes fall to his vodka beside the bed.
The bottle is half empty, so I assume it’s his current one.
Peeking my head into the walk-in closet, I see him step into the bath before tiptoeing back to the bed.
I pop the cork top and pour it in, giving it a shake.
I then toss the vial in a drawer full of paperwork since I can’t find a trash can, and rush to snatch his towel off the door.
Walking into the bathroom, he sings out again.
“Grab my vodka too, I left it on the bedside table.” I groan, and he laughs, but little does he know that is precisely what I want him drinking.
I smile slyly to myself and snatch it up, pretending to be angry about having to retrieve it as I walk back in.
I hold it out to him, and he takes it, sitting the bottle beside him.
I sit on the edge of the bath and hold my hand out for the stupid washcloth, but he clicks his tongue.
“You’re not maid material, are you?”
“Neither are you, as it appears, nor are you man material seeing as a man can wash himself. Though, I suppose a little boy would need help,” I tell him, snatching it when he offers it to me, but he pulls it back at the last second.
I grit my teeth and reach for it, and as he offers it again, he drops it into the bath water between his legs with a wet plop.
“Appears this little boy is clumsy.” He smirks, raising an eyebrow at me.
Pressing my lips in a line, I drop my hand beneath the bubbles and water to retrieve it when Zeke grips my wrist, holding it against his crotch.
His huge cock brushes my palm when he locks my fingers around it, forcing me to hold it.
“Bet that doesn’t feel fucking little though,” he growls. I jerk my hand, but he holds it in place for a second longer before letting me go. I nearly topple backward, only just managing to catch myself before I fall.
Zeke watches me as I lather it in soap before he reaches for his vodka. He swigs from the bottle then coughs frantically, making me jump.
“Shit is like rocket fuel. The first few mouthfuls always burn, then after that, it’s like drinking water.
” He shrugs, tipping the bottle to his lips.
He gulps down half the contents like it is indeed water.
Only he starts coughing once again. He chokes and retches, smacking his chest. “Fuck, where did Malachi get this shit from,” he coughs.
“Malachi?”
Zeke nods while catching his breath. “Yeah, Father ordered the maids to piss off everything except wine, though my uncle always has a stash in his room, so I helped myself.”
“Well, it seems you can’t handle a big boy’s drink,” I tell him and he growls.
“Shut up and wash me,” he snaps.
Zeke glares straight ahead, determined to drink his vodka, yet no matter how much he drinks, he complains of the burning and how it makes him feel queasy.
When he stands to climb out, I avert my gaze and hand him his towel, but he sways stepping over the edge, and even though I grab his arm to steady him, he still nearly trips over the side.
He staggers back to the room, clutching the door frames to hold himself upright, and I suddenly feel bad for poisoning him. He doesn’t even bother getting changed, just snatches up another bottle he pulls from inside the bedside drawer and gulps it down.
“This one tastes fine...” he mumbles, staring down into the bottle, then his eyes dart to me.
I quickly race back to the closet and pull on one of his long-sleeved shirts before wandering back out.
He’s sitting up in bed, making me wonder if there wasn’t enough in the vial.
He pats the bed beside him, and I stare at the spot before reluctantly moving toward it and climbing in.
The moment I do, he pounces on me. I shriek, trying to shove him off, but his claws escape his fingertips, and he grips my neck.
“You’ve done something to my drink,” he purrs.
“Haven’t you?” I shake my head, and he blinks quickly before his eyes roll into the back of his head.
He slumps over me, his weight crushing the air out of my lungs, and I grip his hair, pulling his head up to find him out cold.
A devious smile springs to my face as I shove him off and climb out of bed.
I tuck him in, pulling the blankets up, and even passed out, he begins to sweat from the toxins coursing through his body.
For a while, I watch him sleep, needing to ensure the others don’t come looking for him and also for time to slowly tick by.
I watch the alarm clock on the bedside table.
When it’s nearly time, I escape the room, checking the corridor first and ensuring it is clear.
Once I’m sure that no one is watching, I retrieve the key and get changed into my clothes, putting on extra layers knowing how cold the nights can get.
Once dressed, my heart beats erratically at what I am about to do.
This is my one chance, and if I’m caught, there will be hell to pay.
Putting on some shoes, I move toward my door and pop my head out.
I have ten minutes to get down to the gates and after that, there’s only a small window when the guards change shifts.
Stepping out into the corridor, I find the place silent and cold.
I quietly sneak to the huge double doors, opening them just enough for my body to slip through, then gently close it.
Relief fills me when I realize the guards that usually wait at the door feel it’s not necessary while I’m supposed to be with the kings.
I find it surprisingly easy to escape the castle and make my way down to the maze without being spotted.
However, when it comes to the gates, I bide my time, waiting for the exact moment I know Shelley should have switched off the cameras.
“Fuck, something sweet is in the air tonight,” I hear one guard say as I hide among the shrubs, my brows pinch, and I watch as one vampire man sniffs the air, looking in my direction.
Only then do I remember I am covered in blood from Zeke’s torture at dinner.
I mentally curse myself, squeezing the jacket I’m wearing closer.
I wait for what feels like hours, but it’s only a few minutes before the two guards leave their posts and wander toward the castle.
The moment they’re out of sight, I r un for the gates, twisting the key and opening it.
My skin crawls, and my breath lodges in my throat when the gate creaks open, and I slip through.
Not wanting to alert anyone, I decided to leave it open, knowing closing it would run the risk of them hearing it.
With no time to spare, I run for the trees, determined not to stop until I physically can’t walk anymore.