Page 62 of Secrets of Avalon
The world narrows to the heat of his mouth on mine and the intoxicating slide of his tongue against my own. We drink each other in like thirsty travelers stumbling upon an oasis in the desert. I pour all my fear, all my anger, all my love into the kiss, silently vowing to fight for him with every fiber of my being. Against the council. Against my curse. Against all of it. Anything.
I comb my fingers through the silk of his hair, savoring the low, needful growl that rumbles through him as I tug gently. His hands roam my back, leaving trails of fire in their wake.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathless, our chests heaving. Hawke rests his forehead against mine, his eyes closed, a smile on his lips.
“I suppose I can take this to mean you’re more than agreeable to marrying me? To becoming mine?” The boyish grin on his face brings a hot flush to my cheeks.
A gravelly cough interrupts the perfect moment. Kellan steps close to my side. “We’ve an audience, Domina.”
I pull away and scan the crowd. It only takes a moment to see them. Julius Darkwood and his daughter Vencia, surprise and disgust war on both their faces. Destrien, Hawke’s brother, is also standing right next to them, but only for a moment. He melts into the crowd and I lose sight of him a few moments later.
As my gaze shifts to the right, I'm struck by the sight of another elegantly dressed couple standing beside the Darkwoods. The woman is a vision of beauty, her raven-black hair cascading over her shoulders in a sleek, shimmering curtain. She holds herself with a regal bearing, her posture straight and proud.
The man at her side exudes an aura of power and authority, his presence commanding attention even from a distance. Atop his head rests a simple gold crown, the metal gleaming in the sunlight. His hair, a striking black and silver mixture that matches Hawke's, not a single strand or braid out of place. When he turns his head to survey the crowd, I catch a glimpse of his eyes–icy blue.
The same eyes as the man standing next to me.
They’re Hawke’s parents.
CHAPTER 25
No Authority Needed
Hawke Stormblood
I could've sworn I saw my brother, but when I look again he's not there. Instead, I see my parents standing beside Julius and Vencia Darkwood, their faces a mix of confusion and disapproval.
A cold dread settles in the pit of my stomach, like a lead weight threatening to drag me under. It's a feeling I've grown all too accustomed to over the centuries, but the stakes have never been higher than they are now. Not with Melinda by my side. Her hand grasps mine tightly, her very presence both a comfort and a risk.
They saw us. I see the hatred simmering beneath Julius' feigned nonchalant expression, like a volcano on the brink of eruption, its molten fury barely contained by a thin veneer of civility.
Melinda goes tense, her grip tightening on mine. I give her hand a reassuring squeeze, a silent promise that I'll protect her no matter what. But even as I try to project an air of calm confidence, my mind is racing, trying to anticipate the many ways this encounter could go wrong, each scenario more disastrous than the last.
They cross the space between us, the distance closing with each measured step until they're standing close enough that I can smell my mother's jasmine perfume, the scent usually so comforting now tinged with the bitter notes of disappointment. I love that scent, but right now, the look on her face breaks my heart, a jagged crack that spreads with each passing second. I wish I'd had more time to explain, to make them understand.
"Hawke, my son," my father calls out, his voice carrying a mix of surprise, but mostly disapproval. "We didn't expect to see you here, with–" He pauses, searching for the right words, but they elude him. He just witnessed me kissing a woman. In public. The scandal of it all hangs heavy in the air.
A low growl builds in my chest, a primal sound that I can't quite suppress. My feral nature strains against the leash of my self-control, the beast within me pacing and snarling, ready to break free.
But before I can respond, Julius chimes in, his tone deceptively mild, like a dagger concealed in a velvet sheath. "Yes, I must admit I find it curious that a woman of such... questionable background has managed to capture the attention of the crown prince of the Fae."
Questionable background. The insinuation behind his words is clear, a poison that seeps into my veins, igniting a fire that threatens to consume me. My anger rises, a red haze tints the edges of my vision, and the world narrows down to this moment, these people, this insult.
How dare he? How dare Darkwood stand there, a smug smile playing on his lips, when just hours ago, he sent an assassin to end Melinda's life? To kill my mate. The audacity, the sheer malevolence of it all, makes my blood boil.
The urge to lash out, to make him pay for his crimes, is almost overwhelming. My control is slipping, the beast within me howls for vengeance, for retribution. It would be so easy to let go, to give in to the primal fury coursing through my veins and tear Darkwood limb from limb.
Vencia is on her father's arm, her posture regal and poised, but her eyes are sharp and cruel as she glares at Melinda down her regal Roman nose. "I suppose it's a male thing, to pass whores around before a wedding, isn't it, father?" she says, each word a barbed arrow aimed straight at Melinda's reputation.
I grind my teeth, the muscles in my jaw twitching with the effort to hold back the torrent of fury that threatens to spill forth. I take a step forward, my muscles bunched and flexing, like a caged lion waiting for the moment to pounce. But Kellan moves faster, his massive frame stepping out to block Melinda from the condescending, hateful words.
"Careful," he rumbles, his voice like distant thunder, a warning and a promise all in one. "To insult my ward is to insult me."
Genuine shock registers on Darkwood’s face. He really hadn’t known Melinda was bonded to Kellan.
"Hawke, who is this woman?" My mother speaks this time, her voice strained and uncertain. "Is she not Ares', ah, um?—"
"No," I say, the word a harsh, guttural sound that tears from my throat like a wounded animal's cry.