Chapter 35: Tension

Hecate POV

The corridors of the castle were a blur as I ran, my robes dragging against the stone, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps that had nothing to do with exertion and everything to do with where I was going.

I was going to his chambers.

After everything. After what happened on the worktable. After the way he had looked at me when Ysabella walked in, guilty and wild and burning. After I had spent the rest of the day trying to scrub his scent from my skin, trying to forget the weight of his body against mine, trying to pretend that the mate bond was not screaming inside my chest.

And now I was running to him.

I almost laughed at the absurdity of it. Almost cried.

But Aileen was out there. Aileen was dying in the snow. And I could not find her alone.

I pounded on his door.

The wood was heavy, ancient, carved with runes I did not bother to read. My fist struck it twice, three times, the sound echoing down the empty corridor. I could hear movement inside. A chair scraping against stone. A glass tipping over. A curse, low and rough.

Then the door swung open.

And my mind went blank.

Maddox stood before me without his shirt.

The firelight from behind him caught every plane of his chest, every ridge of muscle, every scar that crossed his torso like a map of battles fought and survived.

His dark hair was disheveled, falling across his forehead in tangled waves. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, the gold in them diluted by wine and exhaustion and something darker. Something that looked like despair.

He was drunk. Heavily drunk, by the smell of him. The room behind him held the evidence, empty bottles on the table, a fire burned down to embers, a chair turned sideways as if he had fallen into it and could not find the strength to get out.

But none of that mattered.

What mattered was the way his gaze traveled over my face. The way it lingered on my lips. The way his nostrils flared slightly, as if he was breathing me in despite himself.

"Hecate." His voice was rough, scraped raw. Not just from wine. From something else. Something that sounded like her name, even though he did not know it. "What are you doing here? It is the middle of the night."

I opened my mouth to answer, but no words came.

Because I could not stop staring at his chest. At the pendant that hung against his sternum, the vial of blood warm from his skin. My blood. A piece of Samantha still pressed against his heart.

And I remembered.

I remembered the weight of his hands on my hips. The heat of his mouth on my neck. The way he had lifted me onto the worktable and pushed aside my robes and taken me with a desperation that had nothing to do with love and everything to do with need.

It had been fast. Forbidden. Wrong.

And I had wanted it anyway.

I had wanted him anyway.

I still did.

The realization hit me like a physical blow, and I had to look away. Down at the floor. At the stuffed rabbit still clutched in my hand. At anything that was not his bare chest, his golden eyes, the pulse beating in his throat.

"I need you," I said, and my voice came out breathier than I intended. "There is a child outside in danger. Aileen. Beta Emrich's daughter. She went looking for her mother and wandered into the rogue forest."

Maddox blinked. The drunken haze in his eyes parted slightly, replaced by something sharper. Concern. But beneath it, something else. Something that looked almost like relief.

"You came to me," he said. Not a question. An observation.

"Of course I came to you. You are the king."

"I am the man who had you on your back three hours ago."

The words hung in the air between us, heavy and electric. My face flushed. My hands tightened on the rabbit.

"Do not," I whispered.

"Do not what? Speak the truth?" He took a step closer, and I took one back. His eyes followed the movement. "You have been avoiding me all day. I felt it. The moment I walked into the throne room, you turned away. The moment I entered the corridor, you disappeared into your studio. You have been running from me since the moment I pulled out of you."

"Maddox."

"Do you think I do not notice?" His voice was low, rougher now. "Do you think I do not feel it? This thing between us? It is driving me mad, Hecate. I cannot eat. I cannot sleep. I cannot even sleep, you are taking all of my fucking dreams."

I swallowed hard. My heart was pounding so loudly I was certain he could hear it.

"You are drunk," I said. "You do not mean any of this."

"I have been drunk for three years." He stepped closer again, and this time I did not step back. His hand rose, fingers brushing a strand of hair from my face. The touch was featherlight, but it burned. "I have been drunk on guilt and regret and the ghost of a woman who left me. And then you arrived. And suddenly I was sober."

My throat tightened. I wanted to lean into his touch. I wanted to push him away. I wanted to tell him the truth. I wanted to keep my secrets forever.

"Aileen," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "We have to go. She is dying."

For a moment, he did not move. His hand lingered against my cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of my cheekbone. His eyes searched mine, looking for something I could not name.

Then he stepped back.

"Wait here." He turned and grabbed a shirt from the back of a chair, pulling it over his head in one motion. His movements were steadier now, more focused. But I saw the way his hands trembled. The way his breathing remained uneven.

"This storm will kill her before morning," he said, reaching for his boots. "My men cannot search in this. They would freeze before they found her."

"I can track her." I held up the rabbit. "I have her scent. Her life force. Give me one of your horses, and I will go alone."

He straightened, his boots laced, his shirt hanging open at the collar. His eyes met mine.

"I am going with you."

"Maddox, you are in no condition to ride."

"I am in every condition to ride with you." He crossed the room and stopped before me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body. "Do you think I would let you go into that forest alone? Do you think I could stay here, waiting, not knowing if you were safe?"

"The child is what matters."

"The child matters. And so do you." His hand found mine, his fingers intertwining with my own. "I do not understand what is happening between us. I do not understand why I cannot stay away from you. But I am done fighting it."

My chest ached. My eyes burned.

"We have to go," I said again, because I did not trust myself to say anything else.

He nodded and released my hand. But as we walked to the door, his fingers brushed against the small of my back. A touch that could have been guiding. A touch that could have been claiming.

I did not pull away.

We ran.

The stables were dim and warm, the horses restless in their stalls. Maddox chose two of the strongest, a black stallion for himself and a grey mare for me. He saddled them with practiced efficiency, his hands moving fast despite the cold. But every few seconds, his eyes found me. Checking. Watching. Making sure I was still there.

I used the time to cast a small warming spell on myself, barely enough to keep my fingers from freezing, and then another on Aileen's stuffed rabbit, strengthening the tracking link.

The stable boy watched us with wide eyes, but neither of us explained.

Then we were riding.

The wind hit us the moment we left the shelter of the stables, sharp and brutal, carrying snow that stung the eyes and scraped the skin. I pulled my hood lower and hunched over the mare's neck. Maddox rode close beside me, close enough that our knees touched.

"Which way?" he shouted over the wind.

I held up the rabbit and whispered the tracking incantation. A thread of silver light extended from the toy, pointing toward the tree line.

"That way."

He nodded and kicked his stallion forward. I followed.

But as we rode, his hand reached across the space between us and found mine. He did not speak. He did not look at me. But his fingers wrapped around my gloved hand and held on.

And I let him.

So the two of them rode out into that dangerous early morning, through the blinding snow and the bitter cold, while Hecate held the item with Aileen's scent in one hand and the king's hand in the other.