Chapter 151: Hasty Recovery
Claire was surprised at how confident she sounded.
But that was the difference between having a wolf... and not having one.
She could still hear Jarren’s scream as she slashed his body with her claws over and over.
And before he could heal himself, she had swung at him one last ti.
His had had fallen off then.
Her stomach rolled with disgust and a wave of nausea swept over her.
The man who had held a knife to Yeren’s throat had tried to flee, but she had swung the chair at him.
Then she suddenly returned back to her normal self, stepped out of her gown and snatched the torn robe from Jarren’s body to cover herself. The last thing she rembered was carrying Yeren with a strength that surprised her and running out of the building.
Andon found her not long after that and he took them back to the Town house.
As she bathed herself, she noticed that all her scars had vanished.
It was now undeniable.
She had a wolf.
But the discovery left her feeling empty.
She had never hard anyone before in her life - and within minutes, she was as wild as the despicable
Rogues.
Claire could not deny that there was a thrill to be experienced when one looked their adversary in the eye, holding their opponents life in their hands.
"You look tired." His words snapped her back to reality.
She blinked for a second before gazing at him.
"I suppose I am, Your Grace."
He patted the space beside him with an impish grin. "You can lie beside
and fall asleep."
She arched a brow at him.
"How easily can you forget that I am only just your Cupbearer, Your Grace? I cannot possibly share your bed in broad daylight."
She averted her eyes as she spoke.
"Share my bed." He repeated. "You make it seem as if I want to make love to you, Miss Stenly. This bed is big enough for us to both lie down without touching."
She slowly t her gaze, informing him with her eyes that her mind was already made up.
But the knave refused to give up.
"And... only Andon cos in here. This is not the palace, Claire. My guards do not spread gossip, much less anything about ."
Her shoulders sagged sowhat.
"Why are you so adamant about
sleeping on your bed? I have mine... and there are no helpless and whiny Kings inside it." The corners of her lips quirked into a smirk as she said the last part.
He smiled at the barb slowly before bursting into raucous laughter.
"We shall see how helpless this King is indeed." He reached out to her and tugged her forcefully.
Her body fell flush against his, her mouth clashing on his hard chin. She tasted his sweat. Then he turned her until she laid on her back beside him.
"Much better."
"For
or for you?" She asked, her voice incredibly flat.
He turned slightly to give her a quizzical look.
Claire felt the tips of her ears warm up.
"Well, I feel guilty about taking the space of your actual lover, Your Grace. She should be the one here, lying in your arms, whispering soothing thing-" Before she could finish, he swung his body over here in one fluid movent and stared down into her eyes.
His eyes were cold, but asides that, she saw sothing that looked like... anger? Disappointnt?
She blinked furiously to gather her own disheveled thoughts.
He was using both hands to keep his weight off her, she noticed.
"Are you not supposed to be resting your arm, Your Grace?"
His eyes didn’t even shift or flinch at her questions, he just kept staring with the sa intensity.
It unnerved her, but it made warmth course through her.
Claire gulped and waited, not daring to take her eyes off his hypnotic stare.
"Is this about those poems? Is that why you keep saying I’m in love with soone else?"
Her voice deserted her at that point. All she could do was nod helplessly.
As he continued to crowd her, his scent engulfed her nostrils. He slled like...
"What other woman would I write about, Miss Stenly?"
The question took her by surprise. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing ca out at first. Then, she finally said without thinking, "You’re easily the most handso man I have t and you are the King for heavens sake, all the won are literally begging for you to write poetry for them."
His eyes twinkled at her words. "Even you?"
Colour crept up her cheeks as she playfully shoved at his chest. "No, of course not." Claire could hear the lie in her own words.
Wait, was he implying that the poems were about her? Did he expect her to believe that? She could still rember the look on his face when he told her that they weren’t about her - if he thought he would deceive her now...
"You might have been writing about so woman you have been having a secret rendezvous with." She recalled the lines about what the woman’s skin looked like under the glow of the moon...
When she replayed her own words in her head, she realized how foolish she sounded. Of course he was also having a secret rendezvous with ’her’.
So what did that make her?
The second mistress?
"Then how co I have no idea of the woman you speak about?"
He’s just playing the fool, she told herself.
He pressed himself against her, branding her skin with the heat of his body.
"You are supposed to be recovering." She quickly said, suppressing the moan that was building up in her throat.
"I am recovering."
She raised a brow once again at his questionable remark.
"From what, if I may ask? You are supposed to be resting and letting your arm heal until a new healer can be arranged... and yet you are-" She trailed off, colour creeping up her already flushed neck.
"Is it not obvious enough?" He pressed himself flush against, making sure she felt his...
Claire gulped hard, her eyes widening at the clear ssage.
"I am recovering from not having had you for a long ti."
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