Kyle.
My jaw grinds as I slowly pace my bedroom. My gaze rips sharply to my desk. I stride over and yank open the drawer, pulling out exhibits A and B.
A is the red lace thong. B is my knife.
Both are currently massive sources of confusion and weakness for me.
First, there’s my initial confusion over being angry to think she left her underwear for Lochlan. Then there’s the even deeper anger at her leaving them forKyle fucking Santoro.
But one-upping both of those is the fact thatthey aren’t Yelena’s panties.
For one, they’re a size too big. And two, she doesn’t own a single pair of underwear that's anywherenearas skimpy and sexy.
I know that for a fact. I checked her underwear drawer when I slipped into her room later that night after the party to pluck the curious wolf necklace from around her sleeping throat.
So now the bigger question is why Yelena took the risk of sneaking upstairs to the third floor during that party to hidesomeone else’s pantiesin Lochlan’s room forKyleto find.
Hence: confusion.
The knife being a source of weakness is simply…well…
I sigh as I bring the blade to my face and run my tongue over the back edge.
Motherfucker.
Her taste is almost entirely gone, which is extremely annoying. I wasn’t lying the other night when I licked my fingers clean in front of her.
She really has become my favorite fucking meal.
I drag my tongue across the steel one last time before scowling and putting the knife and not-Yelena’s panties back into the drawer.
Remember, you’re a fucking king.
Kings don’t lick the taste of pussy off a knife. Kings don’t sneak into sleeping girls’ bedrooms and paw through their underwear drawers.
“I’m sorry, Lochlan, are you my father now?”
I’m at the bottom of the main floor stairs when Selene’s voice comes from around the corner. I step into one of Kingsward Hall’s massive living rooms and cock a brow at the showdown between two of my cousins.
Selene is standing eye-to-eye with Lochlan, her finger jammed into his face.
Okay, “eye-to-eye” is a stretch. Loch is like a full foot taller than her.
My uncle Kratos is amonsterof a man closing in on seven feet in height. Meanwhile, my aunt Bianca is barely over five feet. Selene and her two younger sisters got the Drakos facial features: high cheekbones, strong jaws, and Uncle Kratos’ icy blue eyes. But not the Drakos height.
Comically, given the current showdown, Lochlan gotallof my uncle Castle’s height and muscular build, in direct contrast to my aunt Calliope’s petite frame.
“If I was your father, I would have traded you in alongtime ago,” Lochlan sighs, glaring at our cousin over her finger.
“Traded me in?” Selene rolls her eyes. “What's that even mean, douchebag?”
“Adoption.”
Selene scowls as she rubs her temples. “Adoption doesn’t involve a fuckingtrade, you psycho. It’s not a gift exchange.”
“Fine, no trade. They could just fucking have you,” Lochlan growls. “Anyway, you’re deflecting from the issue at hand.”
“Which is?”