Page 35 of Feral King

“What kind of message?”

“The physical kind. Then drop them off right where you found them. Make sure Dobrov knows about it.”

He nods. No hesitation. He’s been with me long enough to know what I mean, without too many words needing to be spoken.

“Ready to move?” he asks.

I glance back up at her apartment. I want to stay longer, but the Brighton Beach situation needs my personal attention now. Then to the office. Then sleep. Maybe sleep.

“One second.”

I take out my phone, quickly typing a text and sending it. But before I put my phone back in my pocket, a thought occurs to me.

I type a second message and hit send.

Ethan and I get into our vehicles and pull away from the curb, heading south towards Brighton Beach. I watch Lyra’s building shrink in the rearview mirror until we turn the corner and it’s out of sight.

The sun is up fully now, the city waking. And back in that building, Lyra is about to wake up and see that I’m not there.

I couldn’t stay. I had to make sure she was safe.

But time will tell whether or not that will quell the anger she’s moments away from feeling.

CHAPTER 12

LYRA

Iwake up, reaching for him, but my hand lands on cold sheets.

I open my eyes and sit up, looking around. The fairy lights are still on, and my clothes are still crumpled at the entrance to my bedroom, where he stripped me. The space smells like sex and him, and it makes my chest ache.

I check my phone. A text, sent at 4:47 a.m.

Had to leave. Security situation required immediate attention. Ethan has someone posted outside of your building. Last night stays between us. No one at work can know. I need you to trust me on this. No arguments.

Then a second text, sent a minute later.

I didn’t want to wake you. You looked like something I didn’t deserve to touch.

I read both messages a few times. The first is all Julian—clipped, commanding, and all business. The second isan echo of the side he showed me last night, when he kissed my belly, my thighs, my everything.

The problem is that both messages are from the same man, and I don’t know which is the real him.

I sigh and set down the phone.

Last night I felt…worshipped. Not wanted or desired but worshipped. The way he looked at me and touched me made me feel like I was something he’d been wanting to find for years, precious and delicate.

But now I’m waking up alone, being told to keep it quiet, reading the wordsno one can knowwhile his scent still lingers in the air.

Alexander kept me quiet, too. He’s a different man, and his reasoning was different, but the vibe is the same—the secrecy, the control, the implication that I’ll be causing problems if I don’t shut up and do as I’m told.

One time, Alexander told me not to make a big deal out of it when he cancelled dinner plans with me to grab a drink with Sophia so they could “catch up.”

Julian tells me to trust him but vanishes during the night.

I know they’re not the same. Julian left for business reasons. But knowing and feeling are two different things.

I get out of bed and shower, letting the hot water soothe my skin and my nerves. I can still feel him when I close my eyes, the pressure of his touch, the roughness of his hands, the heat of his breath. I think about the sensation of him filling me, the way his body shuddered as he came deep inside me.