Vanished Sisters: The Lycan King's Slave Island Chapter 159

Natasha's POV

Mordred moved closer, and I tilted my head to the side, exposing my neck in a gesture of submission that felt both terrifying and right. He leaned in, his nose brushing against the sensitive skin below my ear, and inhaled deeply.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Each breath was deep and hungry, as though he was trying to draw every molecule of my scent into his lungs. A low rumble started in his chest—a sound I recognized, a sound that made my eyes sting with sudden tears because I'd heard it before, in the darkness of his den when he was the beast.

He's mine. My beloved. My mate.

A whimper escaped my throat, and I found myself leaning into him, my hands clutching at his shoulders, drowning in the sensation of his nose and lips against my neck. The bond was screaming now, demanding that I close the distance, that I claim him as mine.

Mordred's arms came around me, pulling me closer, and for a moment we were locked together, breathing each other in, lost in something primal and overwhelming.

Then, slowly, reluctantly, he pulled back. His eyes were wild, his pupils dilated, his breathing ragged.

"I..." He seemed at a loss for words. "Forgive me. That was... inappropriate."

"No," I said quickly. "It wasn't. I mean... I didn't mind."

We stared at each other, the air between us crackling with tension. Then Mordred stood abruptly, offering me his hand to help me up.

"Perhaps we should continue the tour," he said, his voice strained.

I took his hand, letting him pull me to my feet, and we continued walking through the gardens. But something had changed. The air felt heavier, charged with possibility and danger.

We came to a small gazebo overlooking a pond, and I led him inside, grateful for the privacy it offered. The structure was open on all sides, but the latticed walls and climbing vines created an illusion of seclusion.

"This is one of my favorite spots," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "You can see the whole garden from here, and at night, the fireflies come out over the pond. It's beautiful."

I was babbling, I realized, filling the silence with meaningless words because I didn't know what else to do.

Mordred wasn't listening. He was staring at me with an intensity that made my skin prickle, his nostrils flaring as though scenting the air.

"Natasha," he said, his voice rough. "I need to—"

He didn't finish the sentence. Instead, he moved toward me with sudden purpose, his hands gripping my arms, pulling me close. His nose buried itself in my neck again, and this time there was nothing gentle or restrained about it. He inhaled desperately, frantically, as though he was drowning and my scent was air.

I should push him away. Should remind him that I was supposedly betrothed to another man. Should maintain some semblance of propriety.

But I couldn't.

Instead, I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him closer, my fingers tangling in his hair. The bond was roaring now, demanding satisfaction, and I was powerless to resist it.

His hands moved from my arms to my waist, then higher, tracing the curve of my ribs through the fabric of my gown. I gasped, and he made that rumbling sound again, deeper this time, more possessive.

My own hands began to explore, running over his shoulders, down his back, feeling the solid muscle beneath his coat. Heat was building between us, desire so intense it made me dizzy.

I could feel his arousal pressing against me, and my own body responded with a surge of need so powerful it frightened me. This was dangerous, reckless, completely wrong.

But it felt so right.

Mordred's lips brushed against my neck, and I moaned, tilting my head to give him better access. His hands slid lower, gripping my hips, pulling me flush against him.

"Your Majesty!"

The voice cut through the haze of desire like a bucket of cold water. We sprang apart, both breathing hard, as one of Mordred's guards appeared at the entrance to the gazebo.

"Forgive the interruption, Your Majesty, but Lord Tuka has arrived and is asking for you. He says it's urgent."

Mordred closed his eyes, his jaw clenching with visible frustration. When he opened them again, the wild hunger had been replaced with rigid control.

"Tell him I'll be there momentarily," he said, his voice clipped.

The guard bowed and retreated.

Mordred turned back to me, and I could see the conflict in his eyes—desire warring with duty, need battling propriety.

"We shouldn't have..." he started, then stopped. "I apologize, Lady Natasha. That was... I shouldn't have..."

"It's alright," I whispered, though my body was still trembling with unfulfilled need.

"No, it's not." He stepped back, putting distance between us. "You're betrothed to Caelan. I had no right to touch you that way. Please forgive me."

Before I could respond, he bowed slightly. "Thank you for the tour. I must take my leave now."

And then he was gone, striding away with that same regal bearing, leaving me alone in the gazebo.

My legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the bench, my entire body shaking. The hunger the bond had awakened was still raging inside me, demanding to be fed, screaming at me to go after him.

But I couldn't move. Could only sit there, trembling, as the reality of what had just happened crashed over me.

I'd been in Mordred's arms. Had felt his desire, his need. Had nearly...

What had we nearly done?

And more importantly—what was I going to do now?