Why should I not kill you

Nyx POV 

The door to the war room slammed against the stone wall with a crack that echoed like a gunshot. I didn’t merely enter; I conquered the space, my presence a storm that made the air itself bow. The man kneeling on the floor flinched so violently he nearly toppled over.

“Look at me,” I said, my voice a low, silken threat. He forced his head up, eyes wide with terror. “You told me he would be there. You swore it on your life.”

“My Queen, I—the information was solid! He was seen! He must have gotten word—“

“Must have?” I repeated, the words dripping with scorn. I began to pace, a panther caged in my own rage. “You bring me a rumor, you waste my time, and you let a ghost slip through my fingers. Again.”

“I sent scouts! They confirmed—“

I moved faster than he could blink. My kick caught him in the ribs, lifting him off the floor. He cried out, a wretched, gasping sound as he crumpled back onto the cold stone.

“You did not confirm it yourself,” I snarled, looming over him. “You brought me half a truth and expected a reward.”

Tears mingled with the sweat on his face. “Please, my Queen, I beg you! I will find him! I will not fail you again!”

“No,” I whispered, my voice deadly soft. “You won’t.”

My hand shifted, fingers elongating into razor-sharp claws. I leaned down, and he whimpered, raising his arms in futile defense. I dragged one claw slowly, almost tenderly, down his cheek. A thin red line welled up instantly, followed by a torrent of blood spilling down his neck and soaking into his tunic. He screamed, high-pitched agony.

“Please…” he sobbed, “don’t kill me…”

I raised my claws for the final strike, my amber eyes glowing with cold fire.

“Darling? I heard the commotion from the hall.”

The voice was warm honey, smooth and calming. I froze. In the doorway stood Lyra, her dark hair tousled, body draped in a simple silk robe that barely concealed her generous curves. Her presence washed over me like a warm wave in the frigid room.

The man saw his chance. Scrambling backward, he stumbled to his feet and fled into the corridor, his cries fading. I growled faintly in annoyance but didn’t pursue. My focus locked on the woman in the doorway.

Lyra glided in, eyes soft with concern. She placed a gentle hand on my rigid arm. “You’re so tense, my love. What did that wretched man do to upset you so?”

My claws retracted, hand becoming human again. I shrugged, the motion stiff. “Nothing of consequence. A minor irritation.”

“It doesn’t look minor,” Lyra murmured, stepping closer until her body was almost flush against mine. She traced the tight line of my jaw with her other hand. “You’re wound so tight you might break. Let me help.”

She didn’t wait. Lyra pressed her lips to mine, a soft, persistent kiss that slowly melted the ice around my heart. My resistance lasted only a moment before a deep, guttural sound escaped my throat. I kissed back, hands grasping her hips, pulling her closer with desperate need.

Her skilled fingers undid the fastenings on my combat leathers, pushing the heavy material from my shoulders until it pooled on the floor. She broke the kiss, lips traveling down my neck, nipping and sucking at the taut skin. My head fell back, a shuddering sigh escaping as her hands found my breasts, kneading them through the thin fabric of my undershirt.

“Lyra…” I breathed, voice thick with need.

“I know what you need,” she whispered against my skin. She guided me back until my legs hit the large oak desk. With a firm push, she bent me over it, scattering maps and missives to the floor. She yanked my pants down to my knees in one swift motion.

The cool air against my heated skin made me gasp. Then her hand was there, sliding between my legs from behind, finding me already wet and aching. She didn’t tease. One finger, then two, sank deep into me—a perfect, filling stretch that tore a cry from my lips. Her other hand wrapped around my waist, holding me firmly.

She set a ruthless rhythm, fingers pumping in and out while the heel of her palm ground against my clit. Pleasure hit immediate and overwhelming, a direct counter to the fury boiling inside me moments before. I braced against the desk, knuckles white, back arching. Every thrust jolted pure sensation through me, erasing thought, failure, everything but the building pressure low in my belly.

“That’s it,” Lyra murmured, breath hot against my ear. “Let me take it all away. Just feel this.”

I could only moan, my world narrowing to the exquisite friction inside me. I felt myself tightening, coiling like a spring. Her pace intensified, fingers curling to hit that spot that made stars burst behind my eyes. A broken, desperate sound ripped from my throat as orgasm tore through me—violent, absolute. My body convulsed, inner muscles clenching rhythmically around her fingers as waves of pleasure crashed over me, leaving me trembling and weak against the desk.

She held me through it, body pressed to my back, whispering soft praise into my skin until the last tremor faded.

We stayed like that a long moment, my breathing slowly evening out. She gently withdrew her fingers and turned me around, kissing me softly. “Better?”

Before I could answer, a piercing alarm shattered the quiet.

My head snapped up, eyes sharp and focused. Languid pleasure vanished, replaced by predator’s alertness. “The vault,” I growled, pulling my pants up and fastening them with quick efficiency. I grabbed my dagger from the discarded belt. “Stay here.”

I moved through the palace corridors with lethal silence, a shadow in the moonlit halls. The door to my private treasury stood ajar. Inside, the massive safe’s door gaped open. And there he was—the assassin, the broken, bleeding man from the warehouse. Satchel heavy with my gold in one hand, reaching for another fistful of coins with the other.

He froze as I stepped in, eyes wide with panic.

I leaned against the doorframe, every inch the queen despite my undress. I tilted my head, voice deceptively calm. “I am in a particularly foul mood tonight. Give me one reason I shouldn’t end you right here and now.”