I changed Leon’s bandages with gentle fingers, my eyes scanning the stitches I had made, searching for any sign of infection, any hint of pus that would mean disaster. The scar still looked angry, raised and red against his sun kissed skin, but it was healing. The edges had knitted together, the swelling had reduced, and when I pressed gently around the wound, the heat had diminished. It was working. He was going to keep his arm.
"I could move it a bit now," Leon said, his voice tentative. He demonstrated, rotating his wrist with a grimace that he tried to hide. "I thought I would lose this arm. I thought I would be crippled, useless." He looked at me, his dark eyes swimming with emotion. "Thank you. Whatever you did, however you knew to do it, thank you for saving my arm."
I cupped his cheeks in my hands, feeling the warmth of his skin, the scratch of stubble against my palms. "Of course," I said softly, meaning it with every fiber of my being. "You are my mate. If I do not save you, who would I save?"
It had been a week since that terrible night, seven days of diligent care, of applying salve morning and night, of watching him heal before my eyes. His other wounds, the claw marks across his chest and thigh, had faded to pink lines, nearly vanished. But the shoulder, the deep gash that had nearly taken his life, that still required care.
"Would you like to bathe thoroughly today?" I asked, my voice casual despite the sudden racing of my heart. "We will still cover the wound; make sure it does not get wet. But I think a bath would be good for you." I had been wiping him down, cleaning him with cloths since the injury, always careful, always vigilant, terrified of infection. But now, with the wound closed and healing, the risk was not so extreme. A little water would not kill him. I would just have to be careful.
Leon hesitated, his ears flattening slightly. "It is still hard to fully move my hand though. How will I wash?"
I opened my mouth to say the obvious, that he had another hand, that he could manage. But then I stopped, a thought occurring to me that sent heat pooling low in my belly. I would get to touch him. Really touch him. He was my mate, bound to me, promised to me. There was nothing wrong with a bit of touching, nothing wrong with washing him, with exploring him, with...
I smiled, a slow, secret thing. "I will help you."
The servants prepared the bath with practiced efficiency, heating water in the large clay pot over the fire until it steamed, then ferrying it in wooden buckets to fill the tub in our den. I watched them work, appreciating for the first time how much labor went into something I had once taken for granted. When they finished and left us alone, the room was filled with steam, fragrant with the herbs I had added, the air warm and humid against my skin.
I helped Leon stand, helped him peel away his clothing, and then he was naked before me, unashamed, proud, his chin lifted and his eyes meeting mine without flinching. And I was blushing like a virgin, my face burning, my eyes wandering despite my best intentions.
Can you blame me? He was magnificent.
Leaner than Ravin, yes, his body carved rather than built, every muscle defined beneath golden skin that seemed to glow in the firelight. His shoulders were broad, his waist narrow, his hips sharp and angular. And between his legs, even soft, he was substantial, thick and heavy, resting against his thigh in a way that made my mouth dry. He was hot, in every sense of the word, beautiful and male and mine.
I helped him into the tub, the water sloshing as he settled, and then I rolled up my sleeves and began to wash him.
I started with his uninjured shoulder, working the cloth over his skin, feeling the muscles ripple and tense beneath my touch. His cheeks were pink, his eyes avoiding mine, and the realization hit me like a thunderclap. My Leon was shy. This brave, fierce warrior who had killed for me, who had faced death without flinching, was shy about being naked with me, about being touched by me.
It made me want to tease him. It made me want to break him, to make him feel everything I was feeling, to shatter that reserve.
I moved behind him, pressing close, the thin linen of my shift pressing against his back, my breasts molding to his shoulder blades. I felt him tense immediately, his breath catching, his spine going rigid. I smiled against his shoulder and reached around him, my hands gliding down his chest, tracing the ridges of his ribs, the planes of his abdomen, the sharp hip bones that jutted beneath his skin. I went lower, my fingers trailing through the warm water, through the dark hair below his navel, so close to his cock, so close to the heat of him.
And then I stopped. I pulled back, moved to his side, and began washing his leg instead, my touch innocent, clinical, as if I had not been about to grasp him.
I heard him make a sound, a soft, wounded noise in his throat, and when I glanced at him, he was looking at me with such longing, such desperate need, his expression like a wounded puppy denied a treat. I wanted to laugh, wanted to crow with feminine power, but I kept my face serene and moved to his other leg, washing slowly, thoroughly, my hands sliding up his inner thighs, higher and higher, until I could feel the heat radiating from him, until I was inches from where he wanted me to be.
And then I stopped again.
"Krys," he said, his voice rough, strained. "I think I am ready to get out now."
Irritation flared, hot and sharp. Why was he stopping this? Why was he not asking for more? His cock was half hard now, thickening beneath the water, his body obviously responding to mine. But he was pulling away, retreating, ending this before it began.
"Does my touching make you uncomfortable?" I asked the question out before I could stop it, my voice sharper than intended.
"No," he said quickly, his eyes widening. "No, of course not. Never."
"Then why will you not let me finish scrubbing you?" I demanded, stepping closer, my hands on my hips. "Why do you want to leave?"
Leon looked at me, his expression tortured, his hands gripping the edge of the tub. "Krys," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Every time you touch me, I want more. I want things I should not want, not yet, not while I am still healing. But my body does not listen. My mind thinks bad things toward you, dirty things, and I feel guilty because I know you are just innocently scrubbing me, caring for me, and here I am..."
He gestured vaguely at himself, at the erection now clearly visible beneath the water, his face flushing dark with embarrassment.
I stared at him for a moment, then I laughed. A real laugh, rich and delighted, understanding finally dawning. He was not uncomfortable. He was aroused, desperately so, and he felt guilty about it, thinking he was corrupting my innocent ministrations with his dirty thoughts.
Oh, Leon, I thought, my heart swelling with affection and desire. If only you knew. I am the one thinking naughty things. I am the one who wanted to tease you, break you, make you beg.
"I am your mate," I said, my voice dropping to a husky purr that I barely recognized. "It is okay to think naughty things about me. It is okay to want me. But you are still injured, so you cannot do anything too strenuous. Let me help you out. Okay?"
"How?" he asked, his voice trembling, his eyes dark with hope and fear.
I did not answer with words. I lowered my hand into the warm water, my fingers finding him, wrapping around his thick length, and I gripped him firmly.
He yelped, his whole body jerking, his head snapping around to stare at me with shock written across every feature. "Krys! What are you... what are you doing?"
"Making you feel good," I whispered against his ear, my hand beginning to move slow and steady, stroking him beneath the water. "Let me take care of you, Leon. Let me give you this."
He threw his head back, a groan tearing from his throat, his hips bucking involuntarily into my grip. I watched him memorized every expression, every shudder, every gasp. I varied my pace, slow and teasing, then faster, squeezing slightly as I reached the tip, circling my thumb over the sensitive head, watching him unravel.
"Krys," he panted, his good hand gripping the tub, his injured arm twitching as if he wanted to touch me. "Oh gods, Krys, that feels... that feels..."
"Good?" I asked, my own breath coming faster now, arousal pooling between my thighs as I watched him, as I felt his pleasure in my hand.
"Too good," he gasped. "I am going to... I cannot..."
"Let go," I commanded, my pace quickening, my grip tightening. "Come for me, Leon. Let me see you."
With a roar that echoed off the stone walls, he did. His body arched, his cock pulsing in my hand, thick ropes of his seed spilling into the water, onto my fingers, his whole body shaking with the force of his release. I stroked him through it, milking him, watching his face transform with pleasure so intense that he shook with it.
When he finally slumped back, his breathing hard and ragged, his eyes dazed and unfocused, I smiled, feeling powerful and feminine and desperately aroused.
"Wow," he breathed out, his voice barely audible. "What... what was that?"
"That," I said, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips, tasting his breath, "was a hand job. And once you are fully healed, we can do more of that. And more things. Many more things."
I helped him out of the tub then, the water cooling now, and helped him dress, my hands lingering on his skin, my body aching with unfulfilled need. He was still dazed, still trembling, his eyes following me with a new kind of hunger, a new kind of possession.
I got him settled on the furs, comfortable and warm, and then I stood there, my own arousal throbbing, my body screaming for release. I was desperate now, my makeshift nightgown clinging to my damp skin, my nipples hard, my core aching with unfulfilled need.
Should I seek Ravin out? He was in the main hall, meeting with his father, discussing the alliance. Should I interrupt him, pull him away, beg him to finish what Leon could not? Or should I simply slip into our sleeping chamber, lift my shift, and rub one out myself, quick and silent and alone?
The choice tempted me, either option offering relief. But as I looked at Leon, at his sated, sleepy expression, at the way he watched me with such adoration, I knew I would wait. I would wait until they could both have me, until we were all together, until this thing between us was complete.
For now, I would simply hold the ache, cherish it, let it build into something explosive for when the time was right.
I laid down next to him on our large bed, my body curling around his, my arm draping across his chest. I hugged him close, feeling his heartbeat slow into sleep, feeling the warmth of him seep into my skin. I would wait here, holding him, until my other mate returned. And when Ravin came, he would slide in behind me, his arm finding my waist, his breath stirring my hair, completing our circle, completing our family. Three hearts beating in time. Three souls bound as one.
---
The summons came three days later. The king had made his decision, and Rina would face judgment.
We walked together to her family home, a procession of power and fury. Leon moved with careful steps, his shoulder still bound, but his head high, his eyes hard. Ravin walked beside me, his hand never leaving the small of my back, his presence a wall of protection. Raon the king strode ahead, his mane bristling, his roar silencing the village as we passed. Lisa followed, her face set in lines of cold rage I had never seen before.
Rina’s home was large, built from dark stone, her father’s status as the king’s rescuer evident in every carved pillar. We entered without knocking, pushing past servants who scattered like frightened birds. In the great hall, Rina waited with her parents, her face pale, her eyes red with tears she had clearly been practicing.
"What will you say to this, Carlton?" Raon bellowed, his voice shaking the rafters. "Your daughter came and stepped on our tails first. She sent her mates after my son, after my son’s mate. She nearly killed Leon with her shenanigans."
Rina’s face crumpled, tears streaming down her cheeks in rivers that seemed too practiced, too theatrical. "No, Father," she sobbed, turning to her own father, clutching his arm. "I did not know that Boris and Pete would do that. I only vented to them about the failed union you had set for me with Ravin and then later Leon. Who knew they loved me enough to commit such an act?"
"Stop the dramatic act," Ravin scoffed, his lip curling in disgust. "They would not act on their own without your orders. Those beasts were your mates, bound to obey your every whim. You commanded them, and they died for it."
"It is the truth!" she cried out, her voice breaking on the lie.
Raon’s jaw tightened, his claws digging into the arm of the chair where he sat. He had no proof. The evidence lay dead in the earth, their throats torn out by Leon’s jaws. Without their testimony, without their binding marks to examine, he could not prove her guilt in the beast law.
"Let us just call it even," Raon said finally, his voice heavy with reluctance. "Leon killed two of your mates. And he was nearly killed. Let it go and stay away from each other. Let this be the end of it."
"What about me?" Rina yelled, her tears drying instantly, fury replacing sorrow. "How can I call it even? I was promised a royal beast. And some clan less girl steals them. And on top of that, two of my mates are dead. How is that fair to me?"
"That is true, my king," her father said, his voice calm but firm. "You promised me one of your sons for my Rina. After saving you. Will you not keep your word?"
Raon was silent for a long moment, his eyes closed, his chest heaving. Then he spoke. "There is the neighboring tribe. My brother is of royal blood as well. him and his son will come in the winter. You may have his son as a mate."
"That is still not fair," Rina spat, her face twisting. "I lost two mates. I deserve compensation. I deserve..."
"Take it or take nothing at all, Rina," Lisa interrupted, her voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "For your hatred of Krys and my sons, those mates of yours made it their mission to kill my son. See that you are lucky that I still let you live. If it were not for your father, who saved my mate five years ago, I would rip your throat out myself."
She stepped forward then, her presence filling the room, her rage so thick I could feel it pressing against my skin. "You threatened my sons," she said, her voice soft and terrible. "You sent beasts to kill them. To kill my Leon. Count yourself blessed that we show mercy. For if I had my way, you would be feeding the crows."
Rina’s hands clenched at her sides, her knuckles white, fury seeping from every pore. But she said nothing more. She could not. The power in the room was against her, the weight of royal fury pressing her down. "I will take it," she said finally, the words bitter as poison.
We left then the silence heavy behind us. We walked back to our home, the sun high and bright, but I felt cold. Ravin came to me, his arm sliding around my waist, pulling me close.
"You do not have to worry anymore," he murmured against my hair. "She will not bother you. She knows the consequences now."
I nodded, pressing my face into his shoulder, but for some reason, my gut twisted, a cold knot of dread settling deep in my belly. I looked back once, at the dark stone house receding behind us, and I knew. I knew with a certainty that chilled my blood. It was not over.