Wrath of the Wolf Queen [HOTWP #2]

Chapter Twenty-Two: NIKOLAI

The trek to the mountain ranges of Dyrkmore is a hard one.

After two days of walking through rain, mud, and every other shitty thing mother nature wanted to throw at me, I finally stand outside the entrance to the cave, the one that leads to the High Witch's true base.

And the place where Althea is being kept.

I swallow thickly. I know Althea was the reason Naomi pulled away from that kiss, and just thinking about it riddles me with so much guilt that I can hardly breathe.

Truth is, I'd loved that kiss with Naomi. I'd savored every damn second of it, and the feel of her lips on mine was like pure heaven. But it was stupid of me. Cruel. I shouldn't have spurred Naomi into that kiss, let alone go through with it.

What's worse is that I would have fucked her, too, if she'd asked for it. I would have gladly eased up inside of her and given her an orgasm powerful enough to rock her world. The sort that renders you so spent that you are hardly able to move afterwards.

When I said I wanted her to let me take care of her, I meant it. I want to satisfy all her needs, and, if at that moment it meant sex, then I gladly would have complied. After all, all I want to do is please her. Pleasure her...

I shake my head in revulsion. I should have stopped it. I went too far.

And yet, I can't bring myself to regret it. Not entirely, at least, because that kiss had enough heaven in it to last me a lifetime. From now on, the feeling of her lips on mine will haunt my dreams, and the knowledge that I can't really have her—that I'm utterly irredeemable in her eyes—will torment me for as long as I'm awake.

Perhaps that will be my punishment. It is a well-deserved punishment, anyway.

Banishing my mate from my thoughts, I loosen a breath and squeeze past the entrance of the cave. Once inside, I walk down the sloping tunnel, not needing any light for guidance as I stalk through the dark. I have every twist and turn of this place memorized to a tee.

Finally, a light glimmers in the distance, and before I know it I'm back in the dimly-lit cavern I used to call home. There's nothing here but a large round table carved out from stone, and a small crystal ball glowing with some otherworldly magic sitting on its surface.

And behind the table, with hair as red as fire and eyes as black as pits, is the High Witch.

She knew I was going to come. She always seems to know everything, and it's because of that damn ball.

I eye it for a long moment.

"Lady Melisynda,'' I say eventually, bowing my head in a show of respect. Her red brows flick up.

"Whatever happened to 'master', my dear Stormhound?"

I open my mouth to respond, but no words come to my aid. The thought of referring to lady Melisynda as my master just feels... wrong now. It fills me with an incomprehensible rage I don't quite understand, because I've never had an issue with it before.