Chapter 98: Just For Tonight
(MAYA)
Night after night, I find myself abandoning the comfort of my bed for the open sky.
It doesn’t matter how exhausted I am or how cold the night air grows; the walls press in on , mories of my cell creeping like shadows across the ceiling. So nights I wake gasping, clawing at invisible restraints. Other nights, I don’t sleep at all, just stare at the walls until they seem to inch closer.
The cottage garden has beco my sanctuary. I’ve created a small nest for myself—a thick blanket spread on the soft grass, another to cover , and the endless canvas of stars above. My mother has stopped asking why she finds
outside each morning. She simply brings
coffee and squeezes my shoulder.
Tonight is no different. The moon hangs fat and bright in the sky, nearly full. According to Erik, the ceremony to reinstate Griffin as king will happen when it reaches its peak in another week or so. The thought sends a strange flutter through my stomach.
I wrap my cardigan tighter around , settling onto my blanket. The night air carries the scent of pine and earth, crisp and clean. I take a deep breath, feeling so of the tension ease from my shoulders.
"Can’t sleep again?"
The deep voice doesn’t startle
anymore. I turn to see Griffin erging from the shadows of the trees that separate the cottages from the main palace. He’s wearing loose pants and a simple white shirt, his silver hair almost glowing in the moonlight.
"Never can," I admit, pulling my knees to my chest.
He approaches slowly, as if giving
ti to tell him to leave. When I don’t, he sits beside , close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body.
"The walls?" he asks quietly.
I nod. "They remind
of...there."
He doesn’t need
to explain. He lived in that sa cell, felt those sa walls closing in. Of all people, Griffin understands.
"I can’t sleep inside either," he confesses, voice low. "Every night, I end up on the balcony of my chambers. It’s better than nothing, but..."
"But it’s not the sa as being completely under the sky," I finish for him.
Our eyes et in the moonlight, understanding passing between us. Sothing deeper pulls at , an inexplicable urge to be closer to him. It’s been building over the past few days, a strange, insistent tug that makes my heart race whenever he’s near.
"Co with ," he says suddenly. I blink at him. "Where?"
"My chambers have a large balcony. It’s higher up and away from the trees, so it’s more open. You may find it easier to rest there, and you’ll be protected from the elents." He hesitates. "I can sleep elsewhere if you want privacy."
"No," I say too quickly. The thought of him leaving makes sothing twist inside . "I an, you don’t have to go. If you’re uncomfortable indoors, too, then..."
He stands and offers
his hand. "It would be better for both of us."
I should say no. I should stay right here in my safe little garden nest. But my hand reaches for his of its own accord, warmth spreading from where our skin connects.
"Just for tonight," I say, more to myself than to him.
The walk to the palace is quiet. Griffin leads
through side entrances and empty corridors, away from the prying eyes of guards or late-night staff. His fingers remain loosely twined with mine, a lifeline in the darkness.
His chambers are larger than I expected, a massive suite with separate rooms flowing into one another. Unlike the rest of the palace, which is ornate and formal, his space is surprisingly minimal. The furniture is elegant but simple, the colors muted earth tones. No clutter, no unnecessary decoration.
He leads
straight to the balcony doors and throws them open. The cool night air rushes in, and I step outside eagerly. The balcony wraps around the corner of the palace, offering a panoramic view of the surrounding forests and mountains.
The moon bathes everything in silver light. It’s beautiful, breathtaking even, but most importantly, it’s open. I can breathe here. "Better?" Griffin asks, coming to stand beside .
"Much," I admit, leaning against the stone railing.
He moves away briefly, returning with a thick blanket that he spreads on the balcony floor, followed by another to wrap around . The gesture is so thoughtful, it makes my chest ache.
"Would you like sothing to drink?" he asks. "I find it helps, sotis."
"Please."
He disappears into his chambers again, and I take this ti alone to collect myself. What am I doing here? This man is a king of wolves, or will be soon. I’m a human scientist who doesn’t even belong in this world. And yet...
Sothing about him feels like ho in a way nothing else has since my capture.
Griffin returns with two glasses and a bottle of amber liquid. "Bourbon," he explains, pouring a asure into each glass. "If you don’t like it—"
"I like bourbon," I say, taking a glass from him. Our fingers brush, and that sa electricity shoots up my arm.
He sits on the blanket, his back against the stone balustrade, and I join him, careful to leave space between us. The bourbon burns pleasantly down my throat, warming
from the inside.
"One more week," I say, staring at the moon. "Are you ready?"
He follows my gaze upward. "I don’t know if anyone can truly be ready to wear a crown." "You’ve done it before."
"A lifeti ago," he says quietly. "I was younger then. More certain."
I study his profile in the moonlight, the strong jaw, the straight nose, the faint scar on his cheek. There’s a weariness to him that wasn’t there in the cell, a weight that seems to press on his shoulders.
"What changed?" I ask.
His eyes find mine, dark and intense. "Everything."
The single word hangs between us, heavy with aning. I take another sip of bourbon, trying to steady my suddenly racing heart.
"I’ve been aning to ask you sothing," I say, desperate to break the tension. "That first night you found
in the cottage garden, how did you know I was there?"
A small smile tugs at his lips. "I could sll you." "You could, what?"
"Your scent," he clarifies. "Lavender and sothing uniquely you. I could pick it out anywhere." Heat creeps up my neck. "That’s...intense."
"It’s a wolf thing," he says with a shrug, but there’s sothing in his expression that makes
think it’s more than that.
I readjust slightly, suddenly aware of how close together we’re sitting. The space between us seems to have shrunk without either of us moving. The moonlight catches in his silver hair, and an overwhelming urge to touch it washes over .
"Griffin," I say, my voice not quite steady, "I think I should go."
"Why?" he asks simply.
"Because..." I trail off, not sure how to explain the strange, magnetic pull I feel toward him, the way my skin seems to hum with awareness when he’s near.
His gaze drops to my lips, then goes back up to my eyes. "Tell
to stop," he murmurs, leaning closer, "and I will."
I should. I know I should. But the word sticks in my throat as he closes the distance between us, his lips brushing mine in the softest of touches. A question, not a demand.
My answer is to surge forward, my hand finding the back of his neck and pulling him closer. The kiss deepens instantly, his bourbon-tinged tongue sliding against mine. A groan rumbles in his chest, vibrating through .
His hands are everywhere, in my hair, skimming down my sides, pulling
into his lap so I’m straddling him. I can feel him hardening beneath , and I rock against him instinctively, drawing a sharp hiss from between his teeth.
"Maya," he breathes against my neck, trailing hot kisses down to my collarbone. "We should stop."
But his hands grip my hips tighter, guiding my movents against him. The friction is delicious, maddening. "Don’t stop," I gasp, reaching for the hem of his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against mine.
He helps
pull it over his head, and I take a mont to admire the hard planes of his chest, the defined muscles of his abdon. He has filled out in the past weeks, his body recovering its strength. I trace my fingers along a faint scar that runs across his ribs, and he shivers.
Then his hands are on my cardigan, pushing it off my shoulders, tugging at the thin t-shirt beneath. I lift my arms, letting him pull it off. His eyes darken at the sight of
in just my bra, his hands warm and slightly rough as they glide up my sides. "You’re beautiful," he murmurs, reverence in his voice.
I’ve always been the aggressor in my relationships—taking control, setting the pace. I’m used to shy, intellectual n who are happy to follow my lead. But there’s nothing shy about Griffin as he stands up, lifting
effortlessly in his arms.
"Inside," he murmurs, carrying
through the balcony doors to his bed.
He lays
down with surprising gentleness, his body covering mine as he captures my lips again. His knee nudges my legs apart, and I welco him between them, wrapping my thighs around his hips.
"Tell
what you want," he says against my skin, his hand sliding up to cup my breast through my bra. "You," I gasp as his thumb brushes over my nipple. "I want you."
A low growl rumbles in his chest. "You have ."
He makes quick work of the rest of our clothes, his movents efficient but not rushed. Each newly exposed inch of my skin is worshipped with his mouth, his hands. By the ti we’re both naked, I’m trembling with need.
I reach for him, wanting to touch, to explore, but he catches my wrists, pinning them gently above my head. "Let ," he says, his voice rough with desire.
It’s not a command, not quite. But the authority in his tone sends a thrill through . I’ve never surrendered control like this, never wanted to. With Griffin, though...
I nod, relaxing into his hold.
His smile is almost predatory as he lowers his head to my breast, taking the nipple into his mouth. His free hand slides between my legs, finding
already slick and ready for him. His groan of approval pulsates against my skin.
"Griffin," I breathe as his fingers stroke expertly, building a pressure that has
arching off the bed. "Please..."
"Tell
what you need," he whispers, nipping gently at my collarbone.
"You," I manage. "Inside . Now."
He releases my wrists, reaching for sothing in the bedside drawer. I hear the tear of a condom wrapper, and then he’s positioning himself at my entrance, his eyes locked on mine.
"Are you sure?" he asks, a final check.
In answer, I wrap my legs around him, pulling him closer. He sinks into
with a groan that I echo, my hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.
He sets a pace that’s just this side of too much, powerful, deep thrusts that have
seeing stars. His hand slides beneath , angling my hips to hit a spot that makes
cry out.
"That’s it," he growls approvingly. "Let
hear you."
I’ve never been loud during sex, always too in my head, too concerned with control. But Griffin strips that away, driving
higher and higher until I’m moaning with every thrust, begging incoherently.
When I finally shatter, it’s with his na on my lips, my body clenching around him in waves of pleasure so intense I think I may pass out. He follows
over the edge monts later, his rhythm faltering as he groans into my neck.
We lie tangled together afterward, catching our breath. His weight on
is grounding rather than crushing, his heartbeat a steady drum on my chest. Eventually, he rolls onto his side, pulling
against him.
"Stay," he murmurs into my hair.
I should say no. I should go back to my cottage, back to what’s safe and familiar. But his arms feel like the safest place I’ve been in years.
"Just for tonight," I whisper, already drifting toward sleep.
For the first ti since my escape, I don’t dream of walls closing in on .
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