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And also how efficient Bronze could be at dropping bodies and making them disappear.
Bronze lifted Clara to his chest once more, to the delight of every swoony female in attendance and several of the muttering males, and addressed the king. “Go to the woods and clean up your mess. By morning, ensure the rest of the western lycans have departed the keep and then the three of us are going to have a nice little sit-down so we can all come to terms with your kingdom’s new reality. And whatever else you need to say to me right now can be addressed to the back of my head because there isn’t anything else I intend to hear for the rest of the day other than the words of my betrothed.”
The crowd parted for him as he carried his prize back like a greedy pirate who’d just found a long-lost treasure after a decade of false alarms and wrong turns.
Clara drew his ear to her mouth and said with a laugh, “You’re too much sometimes.”
“Nope. Not hearing that.”
Because none of it was enough. He wasn’t enough, and whatever time he had left with her in this realm would never be enough, but he’d sure as hell soak up every second with her until destiny came to its senses and gave him his next marching orders.
Chapter 29
There was something to be said for giving oneself over to whatever primal urges decided to lay claim to your higher reasoning. For Clara, that had always been relegated to her wolf. She’d give the beast her head and let her run as widely and freely as the property would allow. It was the only sort of freedom Clara had been permitted to enjoy, provided she remained within their borders, and that wasn’t an acquiescence on her father’s part so much as a biological imperative.
But held high to Bronze’s chest as she was, their breaths mingled with an urgency that was almost painful in their insistence. Her heart wasn’t just clamoring against her chest with frantic eagerness but with almost the rabid panic of a berserker. A desperation that her wolf had known and understood long before Clara had gotten wise to the significance of what her body was feeling.
Bronze booted the door to her bedroom closed behind them, threw the latch, and never broke stride as he carried her . . . in the complete opposite direction of the bed.
“Where are we going?”
“Blood. Bath.”
“A blood bath?” she teased, kissing his stony chin. “That hardly sounds appetizing.”
“Don’t distract me. I’ve finally got my eyes back, and I’m going to use them, dammit.”
“Who am I to argue then?”
By the Moon Mother, she loved him like this. All growly and grunty and singly focused on what exactly she knew not, but she did know that he intended to involve her in it. And that was just so where she wanted to be. Her wolf growled in kind with approval and perhaps a bit of agitation that it had taken Clara so long to come to terms with this.
But they were here now. Her father would be dealt with. Her people would begin to heal just as soon as she and Bronze could establish hope in a better monarchy and ideally push her father out of the throne sooner rather than later.
Clara’s feet finally touched the floor as Bronze squatted down and settled her on the edge of the tile shower bench, but his hands never left her body. They merely relocated to smooth over her arms, down her neck, across her brow, and anywhere else his worried gaze had touched first.
A smoky hazel gaze that battled between a far-too-familiar delicious intent and one that ached with the restraint of a boiling pot too long covered.
Oh, this will not do at all.
She grabbed up his hands and brought each of them to her lips. After she kissed both pulse points once, twice, and then a third time, she smiled as his breathing finally evened out. Once she was certain he wouldn’t combust around her, she forced her brave warrior to still himself. With a few quick rolls of her left sleeve, Clara revealed a shy pink gash on the underside of her forearm that had already begun to stitch itself closed.
But the relief hadn’t softened Bronze’s features the way she had hoped.
“I did this myself,” she assured him in what was hopefully a well-meaning tone. “My father didn’t touch me. The blood required for the scent hunt was minimal, and it was easier all around if I cooperated. I am healed, though.” Then she affirmed her declaration with a kiss to his deeply grooved brow.
Bronze jerked his head from side to side and squeezed his eyes closed as if blocking out the world. “Don’t . . . Can’t . . .”
“Bronze,” Clara urged. “I am whole. I am well. All because of you.”
Goodness, was he always to be this difficult? This was a happy occasion, was it not? They’d just won! Her father would soon no longer have the influence he did over her people, at least not solely and without her and Bronze’s input. She’d gotten everything she’d sought to achieve, including a most magnificent male who always believed in her, despite the hardships thrown in front of him.
Still, he wouldn’t open his eyes to look at her. Another moment of this and she would start taking it personally.
“Bronze,” she said more firmly, tugging at his shirt sleeves. “We have not lost! Why won’t you look at me?”
His chest heaved in great breaths but then settled slowly as each ragged bit of air escaped over a shuddering lower lip. She’d never seen him like this, so emotionally indisposed, so raw and fragile. Like a loyal pet who’d retrieved every ball you asked it to, yet still looked at you with sadness as if it wasn’t enough.
The whole scene broke her heart, which had the nerve to grow far too full to accompany the care she held for this male.
