Two

Caspian

The Crimson Cycle hits every Lycan male on the winter solstice. It is a biological curse. A fever in the blood that demands violence or a mate. Usually, I lock myself in the palace vaults and sweat it out. I suppress the beast. My twin brother, Octavian, always had a way of handling his cycle. He would line up willing females and spend a week destroying hotel rooms.

But I am the King. I do not lose control like a common dog.

Tonight, the fever was clawing at the inside of my skull. I came to this miserable dive bar on the edge of the human city to drink something harsh enough to burn the edge off. I just needed one hour of silence before heading back to the packhouse.

Then, she spilled cheap whiskey on my arm.

I turned my head, fully intending to rip the throat out of whoever disturbed me.

Instead, I saw her.

She looked like a disaster. Her faded dress was torn at the hem. Her hair was a tangled mess. She was shivering, smelling of rain and fear and something else.

Vanilla and rainstorms.

The beast inside my chest slammed against my ribs. The cycle fever, the burning heat I had been fighting all week, suddenly funneled into a single, sharp point of obsession.

"You're a long way from home, little wolf," I said. My voice sounded rougher than usual.

She backed away, her breathing erratic. "I have to go."

She turned to bolt. I caught her wrist.

Her pulse hammered against my fingers. Her skin was freezing, but the contact sent a jolt of pure fire straight to my groin.

"Wait," I commanded. I stood up, towering over her. I leaned down and took a breath.

"You," I whispered. "It's you."

She stared up at me with wide, terrified eyes. "Let me go. Please. I don't have any money."

"I don't want your money," I said. I pulled her slightly closer. Her scent was intoxicating. It was drowning out the violent urges of the cycle and replacing them with pure lust. "Who are you running from?"

"No one," she lied. Her voice shook. "Just a bad date."

"A bad date doesn't leave bruises on your wrists," I noted, tracing my thumb over the faint purple marks on her pale skin. "And a bad date doesn't make a wolf smell like pure terror."

She tried to yank her hand away. "It's none of your business. Let go of me before I scream."

"Scream," I challenged her. I kept my voice low. "See who comes to help you. The men in this bar are scavengers. If I let you walk out that door alone, you will not make it three blocks."

She swallowed hard. She looked around the dimly lit room. A few bikers were glaring in our direction, their eyes lingering on her torn dress.

"What do you want?" she asked.

I wanted to drag her to my car. I wanted to lock the doors and bury my face in her neck. The Crimson Cycle was completely overriding my logic. But there was something else. A pull. A deep, ancient recognition vibrating in my blood.

"I want to offer you a deal," I said. I let go of her wrist, but I stepped closer, trapping her against the edge of the wooden bar. "You need a place to hide. I have a penthouse suite at the top of the glass tower downtown. The security is impenetrable. No one will find you."

Her eyes narrowed. She crossed her arms over her chest. "And what do you get out of this deal?"

"I get you," I answered honestly.

She gasped softly. "You want to sleep with me?"

"I want to consume you," I corrected her. The beast in my head was roaring. I leaned in until my lips were inches from her ear. "I have a fever, little wolf. A very specific condition that hits Lycans once a year. I was planning to suffer through it alone. But your scent is the only thing making me feel sane right now."

She pushed her hands against my chest. Her hands were tiny against my coat. "You're insane. I don't even know your name."

"I am Caspian," I said. I captured one of her hands and pressed it flat against the left side of my chest. My heart was beating like a war drum. "Feel that? That is what you do to me. You have two choices. Walk out that door and take your chances with the city streets. Or come with me, spend the night in my bed, and wake up safe tomorrow."

She bit her bottom lip. She was weighing her options. She was desperate, broken, and terrified. But I also saw a spark of defiance in her eyes.

"Just one night?" she asked.

"One night," I lied. If she got in my bed, I was never letting her go.

"And you promise no one will find me?"

"I am a King," I said quietly. "My word is absolute."

She looked at the door. She looked at the bikers. Then she looked up at my eyes.

"Fine," she whispered. "Take me with you."

I didn't wait for her to change her mind. I wrapped my arm around her waist, pulling her flush against my side, and walked her out of the bar.

The rain was pouring outside. My driver was waiting by the black SUV. He opened the door immediately. I guided her into the back seat and climbed in after her.

The partition went up. We were completely alone in the dark cabin.

She sat rigidly against the far door, staring out the window. The streetlights flashed across her face, highlighting the fresh tear tracks on her cheeks.

"Take off the dress," I ordered.

Her head snapped toward me. "What? Here? No."

"It is soaking wet," I said smoothly. I took off my heavy wool coat and tossed it onto the seat between us. "You are shivering. Put my coat on."

She hesitated. Then she reached for the zipper at the back of her ruined dress. She struggled with it, her fingers clumsy from the cold.

"Turn around," I said.

She obeyed slowly. I reached out. My knuckles brushed the bare skin of her spine. She gasped, her entire body arching slightly at the contact. The friction of skin against skin sent a fresh wave of agony straight to my groin. I gripped the zipper and pulled it down.

She let the wet fabric drop to the floorboards. She was wearing cheap, mismatched underwear. She was stunning.

She quickly grabbed my coat and wrapped it around herself. It swallowed her completely.

"Better?" I asked.

"Yes," she muttered, pulling the lapels tightly together. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," I warned her.

The car pulled up to the underground garage of the penthouse. I didn't let her walk. I picked her up bridal style the moment the door opened. She squeaked in surprise, wrapping her arms around my neck to keep from falling.

"I can walk," she protested.

"I prefer carrying you," I replied.

We took the private elevator up to the top floor. The doors opened into a massive, dimly lit suite overlooking the city skyline. I carried her straight past the living room and into the master bedroom. I tossed her gently onto the king sized mattress.

She bounced slightly, her eyes wide as she looked up at me.

I locked the bedroom door. The click echoed loudly in the silent room.

I started unbuttoning my shirt.

"Wait," she said, scrambling backward against the headboard. "Can we talk first? We just met. This is crazy."

"We made a deal," I reminded her. I pulled the shirt off and threw it on the floor. I saw her eyes drop to the black ink crawling across my chest and abdomen. "And my cycle does not care for conversation right now."

I climbed onto the bed, crawling toward her like a predator cornering its prey. She didn't look away. She didn't scream. She just watched me with a mixture of fear and intense fascination.

I grabbed her ankles and pulled her down until she was lying flat beneath me. I hovered over her, caging her in with my arms.

"What is your name?" I asked, burying my face in the crook of her neck.

"Daisy," she breathed out.

"Daisy," I repeated, tasting the name on my tongue. I bit down gently on her collarbone. "You are going to ruin me tonight, Daisy."

I didn't give her a chance to reply. I crashed my lips onto hers.