Hunted: A Claiming Novella (The Claiming) (21 page)

“I love you so much, Ryon Ward. Have I
ever told you that?”

“I believe you have, but feel free to
say it often and freely.”

“Well then, I love you, husband, and I
mean it. It’s scary in a way.”

The way he sighed told her how he felt
more than words could. He understood exactly what she was talking about, and he
agreed.

“Pen, love isn’t something I feel for
many people. You’re it for me. And that’s all there is to it.”

They set off into the night for home,
joking about their horse, which had become untethered and run off. It was the
best walk she’d ever taken, because she had her husband holding her hand the
whole way.

Chapter 19

Three
Weeks Later

Penelope glanced at her husband coyly
for the fifth time since he’d come into
Prima Donna’s
.

She was just wrapping up her shift at
the dance hall. The ballet business was booming more than ever, thanks to all
the mishaps surrounding her Claiming Ceremony. Plus, it helped that she married
the greatest war hero alive. With the new burst in audience attendance,
Penelope and the other dancers were in talks to create longer shows. It was all
exciting because it meant she could dance more. Second to her love of her
husband, was her love of dance.

Her husband waited near the back of the
hall where he could easily slip backstage and go to her room. Ryon had been
very busy of late, leaving less time for them to eat a meal together, let alone
spend any real time together.

She was itchy—with want. From the look
of his bunched shoulders and furrowed brow, her husband was pent up as well. Oh
how she looked forward to rectifying that.

Penelope and the other dancers finished
their reel and strolled off stage to the crowd’s applause.

“Great run!” a dancing girl told her.

“You too!” Penelope replied, already
turning toward her room.

Ryon stepped into the hall from the
opposite end of the tunnel backstage and they each marched toward her dressing
room. She was so hot for him—did he know?

His eyes caressed her body with hungry
sweeps over her sequined, fitted dress. Her breath caught in anticipation.

He opened her dressing room door. She
stepped inside, and he followed behind her. The door shut with a soft snap.
Nerves tingled in her belly.

As soon as she turned around, he was
there swarming her, cupping her cheek and leaning down for a kiss. The kiss
turned wet and hot. Her back hit the door.

“I missed you too,” she said, kissing
her way up to the stubble covering square jaw.

He grunted. She was learning he wasn’t
much for words once the foreplay started. Unless they were to praise her, which
he did often.

He cupped her breasts, pulling them out
of their binding as she worked quickly on opening the ties at the back of her
costume. The snaps opened, ties became loose, and he slammed his mouth down on
hers as he worked on pulling her panties down her legs.

She opened his trousers, stroking his
cock as she found it.

“Damn, I missed you,” he said.

She smiled. He lifted her up, her bare
bottom finding the cool wood door, her feet wrapping loosely around his hips.
His cock nudged her wet folds. She twitched, ready for him.

Then everything came to a crashing halt.

A knock on the door. Penelope jumped.
She nearly screamed, so startled was she, but Ryon slapped his hand across her
mouth in the nick of time.

“Who’s there?” The words came out more
like,
“
Oo’s
dare?”
with Ryon’s hand covering
her mouth.

Talk about poor timing. Neither she nor
Ryon appeared to want to stop.

In fact, he nudged her wet folds with
his cock, teasing her with what could be.

“It’s
Tarina
,
your boss. Great show, but I wanted to talk to you about the next program.” The
door knob rattled.

Penelope and Ryon froze. Luckily, one of
them had remembered to throw the lock. They collectively sighed in relief.

The locked door was enough privacy for
Ryon. He settled in with his hands holding her up by the waist—and his cock
pressed to her slit entrance.

On a wet glide, he slid in.

To keep from moaning, she bit her
lip—then his neck as he started working his long length in and out of her. Oh,
God, it felt incredible! It’d been far too long since she’d had sex with her
husband. How was it that he felt even bigger and harder than before?

“Can we talk about it later?” she
gasped.

They’d been days without this. Going
from having making love often to not at all
had
been
like torture. The pleasure now was too exquisite. She was going to come apart
in a matter of seconds. Ryon knew it too, as he started rubbing her bud with
his thumb and sinking into her harder.

He knew exactly how to touch her buttons
and make her come apart.

“Eh, I have plans. A date actually. Hey,
why is this door locked? It isn’t like you have anything I haven’t seen, Pen.”
The door handle rattled some more.

Penelope giggled and the door handle
stopped.

“Come back later, please.” She tried to
call out firmly, but instead it came out wispy and breathless.

She was close to coming. In and out he
rocked inside her, his hot, vapid breaths tantalizing her senses.

She heard grumbling on the other side of
the door. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she heard footsteps
retreating.

“
Mmm
… Thank
the Lord,” she commented.

“Exactly,” Ryon agreed.

His mouth slammed down across hers as he
worked her faster.

Muscles pulled tight as a bowstring as
her hips writhed against him. She came apart hard—a strangled cry tore from her
throat, caught by his own.

Breathing erratic from excitement, Ryon
rutted into her. He loved to finish with her.

He stuck deep into her over and again,
his heavy breaths panting in time to his thrusts.

Her milking sex was what did it. She
came apart, body trembling in his arms, his name a chant on her lips. Her quim
squeezed him so tightly.

He shut his eyes, her name spilling from
him as he plunged deep inside her. The hot, telltale pulses of his release
gushed inside her heavily. Their arousal mixed into the lovely scent she
adored.

She kissed him, unable to stop. “I love
you so much.”

Cupping her chin, he smiled down into
her eyes and whispered the words that never ceased to make her melt. “I love
you, too, Pen.”

Epilogue

Patrick
Gaines limped down the gray stone staircase. Colder it grew the deeper he
plunged into the abysmal dungeon. Fumes from crackling torches filled the tunnel
way with the stench of sulfur and smoke. He reached into his pocket, pausing on
one stoop, and balancing his weight heavily on his cane, and pulled out a
handkerchief. He covered his mouth and nose with it to block the awful stench
he was about to encounter.

With
each step, a bead of sweat dribbled down the contours of his spine. With each
step he took he braced himself on his cane, swinging his broken, bandaged leg
onto the next stoop without putting too much pressure on it. A brace, made from
iron rods kept his leg stiff and awkward.

However,
there were many steps and soon he found himself panting in agony, spears of hot
arching pain zipping from his wounded leg like wildfire. He trembled like a
baby, wishing he could run down the stairs and be rid of them, only to find
that impossible. He moved like a blind old man without his wits.

His
gut was bunched tightly by time he reached the bottom step.

He
wiped the sweat from his brow with his kerchief then covered his mouth again.

The
cooler temperature of the dungeon came as a welcoming relief to his sweaty
visage. A sigh escaped him as he resumed his pace down the hall, to the visitor
he was going to see.

The
further he went, the greater the stench became. The stench of a dungeon—nothing
light to behold. The putrid odor felt thick and musty in the air, saturating it
like dense fog. Shadows flickered from the oddly placed torches on the wall,
illuminating some cells while leaving others in the blanket of darkness.

The
scent of old shit and buckets of spilt piss caught him swiftly as he passed one
cell. His stomach suddenly heaved to vomit, but he slammed his throat closed
and took a deep breath through it. More sweat dripped from his face in his
wake. He continued on, past the heinous odor.

He
stepped over muddy hay and puddles of foul-smelling liquids—mixtures of piss
and God knows what. His polished leather boots already looked scuffed and
covered in brown bits—he didn’t dare think about what he’d stepped in. He’d
simply throw these in the trash when he was out of here and buy a new pair.

He
would laugh at the situation, but it hurt too much to do so. It was almost as
if the world was working to keep him away from this awful place. But he
soldiered on and went to the wooden, gated door at the end of the hall.

Through
the wood planks was a small, crescent-shaped cutout which was covered in iron
bars so the guards could see inside.

He
stopped several feet before the door, unsure what made him do so. He didn’t
hear any movement, but he knew she was in there.

Lysse
Karmine, part-Avagarian, and traitor to Tarlè. Her trial was in the midst of
the fury; the people booed her so boisterously, the king had had to make the
trial private.

Get
a hold of yourself.

Gritting
his teeth, Patrick stepped up to the door, jaw twisting as he peered inside.

It
was a small square of a space. Hay littered the floor in flat bundles, a wooden
bucket for pissing sat in the corner of the room and a small, dirty pallet lay
on the floor with a thin sheet covering it. Her new bed.

His
jaw churned, the sight striking him with unease. To know she was living here
now, that this was her place—he didn’t like it.

But
she’d brought it on herself.

“Lysse,”
he called into the windowless space.

Several
quiet moments passed. No answer.

Thick
mucus filled his throat. He gently cleared it and tried again. “Lysse?”

She
swung into view. Directly in front of the barred door. So quickly he nearly
took a step back in surprise. And there she stood.

The
first thing he noticed about her were her piercing eyes staring back at him
from beneath a mop of dirty, stringy hair. She looked nothing like the
sophisticated woman he knew. She looked reckless and wild. Like an animal.

Those
eyes saw him. Saw beneath him, to the very quick of his soul. Searing and
destroying him until he stood there in a pool of his own sweat.

Then
she tossed back her head and cackled. A nasty laugh that made the hairs on his
arms stand up.

“Precious
Patrick. Here at my cell. Why, oh why, has he come to visit me?” Her head
dropped down, hair moving to obscure her face from him.

“I’ve
come to talk.”

A
hiss of air. Like a snake about to attack.

I
must relax. She can’t hurt me on the other side of the door.

He
stiffened at his own wayward thoughts. Who was he to be afraid of her? He
shouldn’t be and
refused
to be. With that encouragement, he lifted his
chin and felt his own cool demeanor slip back into place.

“I
suppose I can leave,” he said, turning to do just that.

He
made it not even a step around when the door shuttered, clanking loudly. He
turned back around to see she’d grabbed hold of the black bars, her teeth bared
and eyes wide.

“Don’t.
Leave.”

He
didn’t. After several moments her grip on the bars eventually loosened. She
backed away. They’d put her in a brown woolen dress that covered her neck to
toe. It looked like a potato sack on her.

“I
believe we have something to discuss,” Patrick said, clearing his throat.

She
stared straight at him, almost unnerving in intensity. She had actually transformed.
She had bitten Penelope Farris. Lysse Karmine was not the woman he’d thought
her to be. She was far more dangerous, far keener. Yet, he found himself here,
standing outside her cell. Her only visitor.

“What
would that be? I’m not exactly in a position of discussion.”

“They’re
going to find you guilty at trial,” Patrick said at length.

A
fist to the door made it leap at him.