This changes everything

Nyx’s POV

God, my pulse was hammering so hard I could hear it in my ears. Each step up those damn stone stairs felt like wading through mud, his hand wrapped around mine, fingers tangled in a way that was too gentle for someone who’d tried to kill me. His skin was rough—calluses from whatever weapons he wielded, a slight shake he probably thought I wouldn’t notice. Or maybe it was my own hand trembling. Hard to tell anymore.

What the actual hell was I doing? This wasn’t me. I’m the Alpha Queen. I don’t do hand-holding. I don’t bring assassins into my private rooms for a chat. I chain them up, break them down, make sure they never get up again. But here I was, letting this guy—the one who’d poisoned my family—walk beside me like we were on a date.

The door to my suite finally appeared, that massive oak slab with iron bands, wolves and moons carved deep into the wood. I shoved it open, and the room hit me with cool air and the faint glow of city lights spilling through the tall windows. My bed sat there like a taunt—huge, black silk sheets rumpled from earlier, pillows tossed everywhere. Lyra’s jasmine scent still hung in the air, mocking me. I hated how it lingered.

The second we were inside, I dropped his hand like it burned. Spun around, locked my expression back into that icy mask I’d perfected over years of ruling.

“This is insane,” I said, my voice sharper than I meant it to be. “You’re an assassin. Silas sent you to end me. You’re my prisoner, Kayden. Not... whatever this is.” I waved a hand between us, the gesture feeling ridiculous even as I did it.

He didn’t say a word. Just watched me with those storm-gray eyes that gave nothing away. Then he stepped forward. One slow, deliberate step.

I backed up.

He took another.

My back hit the stone wall, the chill seeping through my shirt into my spine. He closed the gap until I could feel the heat rolling off him, trapping me without touching. His breath brushed my ear.

“Let me show you why this doesn’t feel wrong.”

His voice was gravel and smoke, low enough to send a shiver down my neck. Before I could snap back, his thigh nudged between mine, gentle but insistent. The pressure hit exactly where I didn’t want it to—well, where I told myself I didn’t. I bit my lip hard to swallow the sound trying to escape.

His hand slid to my hip, fingers tracing the edge of my waistband, teasing the skin just under it. Slow. Too slow. My breath caught, and I felt my claws twitch, itching to dig in, to shove him back.

I grabbed his wrist, hard.

“No,” I managed, but it came out breathy, weak.

He didn’t retreat. Just leaned in closer, lips grazing my ear again.

“Let go, Nyx.”

It wasn’t even a real command—just soft words—but it slammed into me anyway. My grip loosened. My knees went soft. Heat pooled low in my belly, insistent and embarrassing.

I let go.

His fingers slipped under the fabric, finding me already slick. No hesitation. Two fingers pushed in, curling just right, and I gasped, head thunking back against the wall. A broken sound slipped out before I could stop it.

He moved with purpose—slow drags at first, then quicker, his thumb finding my clit and circling in tight, maddening loops. Everything narrowed to that friction, the stretch, the way my hips jerked forward on their own. I grabbed his shoulders, nails biting through his shirt, probably drawing blood. He didn’t react. Just kept going, murmuring against my neck.

“Let it go. Let me feel you fall apart.”

It hit fast—too fast. My thighs shook, breath coming in ragged bursts. The release crashed over me, sharp and overwhelming, my body clenching around his fingers as I choked out his name. Waves kept rolling until I was trembling, legs barely holding me up.

He eased out slowly, brought his fingers to his mouth, and licked them clean, eyes never leaving mine.

I stared at him, chest heaving, heart still pounding like it might crack ribs.

“You’re going to ruin me,” I whispered, the words slipping out before I could pull them back.

He rested his forehead against mine, breath warm on my face.

“Only if you let me.”

For the first time in fifteen years, I wasn’t sure I wanted to fight it. The room felt too quiet, too small. My skin still buzzed where he’d touched me. I should’ve hated it—hated him—but the anger had twisted into something else, something dangerous and alive.

I pushed off the wall, legs unsteady. He steadied me with a hand on my waist, and I didn’t shake it off. Instead, I looked up at him, really looked. The faint scar on his jaw, the way his hair fell into his eyes, the guarded expression that cracked just a little when he thought I wasn’t watching.

“This changes nothing,” I said, but my voice lacked conviction.

He gave a small, crooked smile. “It changes everything.”