In Heat

A soft chime echoes through the room, hushing the guests from their gossip and side-eyes at my entrance, followed by the herald. I focus on the drink in my hand, slipping away from the crowd as best I can, snorting at the activity set up for those looking for mateship.

Small tables are arranged, and selected women sit opposite empty chairs. Numbers are drawn from crumpled balls of paper pulled from a hat, and one by one, men arrive at the tables, sitting across from the she-wolves. 

"You have six minutes to get to know each other. When the bell rings, gentlemen, please move on to the next table."

They converse with each other in their time limits and move on. Some men even begin scenting the females, leaning close to their necks in typical Were custom. It was the next courtship stage—determining if their scents were alluring. I pay little attention to the rest as my gaze returns to the escape route. I begin to fan myself with an abandoned fan I found on a side table.

My body grows hot. Too hot. I bite my tongue, holding back a frustrated groan threatening to escape my lips. Before I can flee, though, I feel someone's lingering gaze on me.

Following my instincts, I glance up, and the intensity of their stare crashes into me like an icy wave. I falter back from the blast.

Standing tall on the balcony overlooking everyone, a Were of obvious Southern heritage looks impeccably regal, wearing a black and bronze embellished full-face mask with silver ribbons holding it up in his short midnight-black hair. But those pale green piercing eyes and dark hair reveal most of his identity to me. I'd never seen anyone with those coloured eyes before. They were utterly enchanting.

Why was a Southern Were—our mortal enemy—here, amid this masquerade, and how is he unharmed? 

My throat feels suddenly dry as I drink in the sight of him. I'd seen those from the Kingdom of Sun and Fury, most in chains, but none like him. Swallowing, another heat spikes through my body from his intense stare alone. My gaze darts to the patio doors once more, and I begin my escape, needing to calm down before someone notices my indecency.

I place my glass on a server's tray, ignoring the men standing idly by who stare in my direction, some with keener senses already sniffing the air and darting their tongues across their lips, pupils dilating. My steps are confident, but my heart pounds, betraying me; I can still feel his gaze on my back and cannot refrain from glancing back as I open the doors. 

The Southern Were is striding towards the stairs, his gait confident and prowling for his prey. I knew already who his prey was. My heart thumps wildly, pumping this liquid fire through my veins, making my thighs clench.

I must get out of here!

I slam the doors behind me, inhale deeply, and sigh in relief at the fresh air. The chill hits hard, keeping my heated state at bay.

"Your Highness?" 

I spin around, breathless at the deep voice, but where my heart had skipped in pure panic, I relaxed ever-so-slightly at Soren's appearance. He is still a man, and I was again going through my heat. It had been happening for months, the symptoms worsening, but distancing myself from unmated males was the one thing that helped.

I forget to breathe, embarrassment creeping up my neck as Soren's hazel-brown eyes assess me, his brows pinched together.

My pheromones have simmered since the Southern Were's intense gaze, but being so close to a knight, whose muscles strained against his shirt, rekindles that heat. What starts as an ember, slow and sure, now spits little sparks within me as I glance up from those muscles to his eyes.

Soren steps closer, and my skin tingles with the need to be touched. "You dropped this." His voice is a low rumble, and my toes curl in response.

I almost jump at the faint touch of his fingers on mine as sparks shoot through me. I snatch the fan from him and use it, instantly regretting it. I shouldn't have.

Soren's pupils dilate instantly, his wolf prowling forward at the scent of my pheromones and steps into my space. I backstep, losing grip on the fan as my eyes remain locked on his, tension crackling between us. A gasp escapes me as the cool balcony slabs press against my backside. Soren's hands clamp down beside me, trapping me.

"Sir Soren," I whisper breathlessly, barely recognising my voice.

Soren blinks, and his eyes return to normal. With a loud gulp, he steps back, the honourable knight I know returning with his well-practised blank expression, betraying nothing.

"I hear they are doing a Hunt this year!" A woman exclaims loudly nearby, snapping me back into reality.

"Oh my! They haven't done that in years…." I tune out their conversation, my focus on my knight.

"Princess, you should return to your quarters," Soren says hoarsely as if he needs something to drink.

I continue to stare at him, my insides melting. The sudden distance between us makes me shiver and long for his closeness again.

"Is someone going into heat?!" A gasp is followed by a giggle. "How scandalous!"

More gasps follow, but it is fake. My condition was juicy gossip they couldn't wait to sink their claws into. Others join the discussion, the noise by the doors growing louder. They will soon figure out it's me!

Squeezing my eyes shut, I ignore the fire coursing through my veins. "Drink," I mutter a plea. "Please, Soren." I swallow down the sudden thickness of my throat, and a gasp later, I add. "I need a drink."

Soren frowns, bows his head, and storms away wordlessly, putting much-needed distance between us. It was clear he wanted to get away from me, too, and I'd given him the perfect excuse to leave.

As soon as the doors shut behind him, I dash for the woods. Hiking up my skirts, I lean on the smooth brickwork of the small balcony, hopping over it. I'm impressed nothing rips—not that I care about this dress.

I run into the woods, losing my heels, my skirts catching on twigs and thorns. Howls thunder in the distance, my heart races, and whimpers leave my lips at the hunt now taking place.

Will someone catch me?

Can someone catch me? 

What had been horrifying at being discovered was now a necessity. The flames coiling inside me need to be doused, and I know now, after months of fighting these bouts, they've only grown worse. No cold water can help me now.

Ah, I need to get away! But how much longer can I keep running? I am without a wolf, and they are much faster, stronger and more powerful than I am.

"Princess!" A man's voice calls close behind me.

His warmth surrounds me, holding me upright; I beg for his help, his touch burning me yet satiating that ache. He is here. Whoever he is, my saviour is more than willing to help me. Help me ease from this tantalising state.

Moans I never knew I could make leave my lips, my hips rock against him, fingers threading through his hair. Desire builds through me, and the bite of bark against my back is a pleasurable pain. I'm almost there, at the tipping point. My eyes roll back with my head, my gasps and moans building up.

His tongue laps at my core, sucking and nipping at my clit; he is ravenous, clutching tightly at my thighs, bruising my skin like he cannot get enough. He groans into me, the vibration tingling through me. He tugs the skirts back so he can watch his handiwork unfold. 

I'm so wet that when a finger slides inside me, it squelches, and he growls, clinging to me more. My fingers tighten in his hair, tugging as my hips begin to rock against those sinful lips, riding out this pleasure, tightening like a taut string about to break.

A twig snaps in the distance, but I do not care about the noise. The man beneath me, however, does. He instantly pulls back, and my fingers tighten in his hair, teeth biting into my bottom lip as what was ultimately going to burst within me diffuses, sizzling out, leaving me wanton.

I'm gasping, clinging desperately for release.

"What have I done?" My skirts drop with a flourish, and he stares up at me. My dishevelled self cannot make sense of what is happening.

"You don't want…" I wet my lips, my body still far too hot and slick, my head fuzzy from his skilful tongue.

The masked man bows his head, ashamed, as he stares at his hands before one hand covers his mouth.

Wait. Is he nauseous because he just realised who I am? Or is it because I… I taste funny?! My jaw slackens in shock, and I look down at my skirts. What is going on down there to… Well, he did just… I wasn't expecting him to… do that!

"Are you…" Going to retch?!

This is even more humiliating! This will now be ingrained in my memories as the most mortifying night of my life!

"Forgive me!" The man scrambles away so quickly that I stare in shock for moments more after his figure disappears into the darkness of the woods.