The Luna's Bodyguard [a mature werewolf romance]

Ch 54: Worship Me

OPEHLIA
🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️

"Blast it," I muttered, pulling scraps of nettles from my hair. The leaves were sticky and left fragrant sap on my fingers, staining them green. "Whose idea was this anyway?"

"Yours." Nate chuckled, propping the guitar against the side of the bed.

"Was not."

"Your ancestors, then," he mused, referring to the van Arsdale tradition of wearing fauna over actual crowns.

It certainly looked cooler. And there was less chance of accidentally decapitating myself mid-shift. But then there was all this shit to deal with. I scowled at the sticky fibres clinging to my hair, the modest neckline of my dress. I'd gone from an irreverent mistress to a ravishing queen, all in the space of a few months.

"How did it go today?" Nate asked gently, patting our bed. I sat down next to him, bouncing on the mattress for fun.

When I settled, he lent his hands to the task of picking twigs from my hair. It felt nice, that methodical tugging at my scalp. I still wasn't used to be cared for.

"Well, actually," I said with a sigh. "Their faces lit up like I just told them we were having Hogmanay early this year."

"Isn't that how everyone looks at you?" Warm lips pressed against my forehead. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach.

I took in a deep breath, holding his scent close as I splayed my hands against his chest. "I wish. They're just excited to go home. And now that the castle is done..."

I'd be going home, too. What a strange, terrifying thought.

It'd been a year since Reginald was murdered and I'd ascended his throne. I hadn't wanted the Crown, but Nate and Fallon had both sworn not to pass down their names, and Addy's curse still beat strongly in both of their breasts. I'd offered to give the kingdom to Mila instead, but she'd counselled me against it, fearing retaliation from the Pendragons' English cousins.

And for good reason. Rumour had it the Wolf King wasn't too happy with the events of last autumn, but with Ignatius by my side, publicly endorsing my status, his royal highness was obliged to leave us in peace.

For now.

"Tell me who dishonours you so," Nate cried dramatically. "I shall have their heads!"

I snorted, just as the door to the ensuite swung open, emitting a cloud of steam. "And I," Fallon growled, but there was a twinkle of wry amusement in his grey eyes.

My mouth dried out as he towelled dry his hair. It was longer, now; he was comfortable enough let it grow without fearing a fight for his life every second of every day, though he was always ready for one.

That readiness was written on every inch of him. My gaze trailed the strong column of his throat; down the strong swell of his pecs; over his navel and to a second towel perched precariously on prominent hip bones.

"Mila will be glad to have you out of her hair," I teased.

"Undoubtedly," Nate chimed in.

Fallon rolled his eyes. "Room for one more?"

"Always," we said as one, though it was stretching the truth. Fallon had a habit of sprawling like a starfish when he felt safe enough to sleep deeply, and when I wasn't crushed between him and Nate, I was clinging to the edge of the mattress for dear life. They couldn't help but dominate every space they occupied — even in slumber.