Authors: Violet Walker
E
lizabeth hid her condition from Luthias as well as she could, but within a few weeks, she was running out of options. The doctor had warned her that demon children were prone to growth spurts in the womb, which made the specifics of their development hazy. One such spurt came upon her very suddenly—one morning she had woken to find that, rather than the passable bloat she had gone to sleep with, her stomach now pushed out like she had swallowed a grapefruit. She managed to find a dress with an ill-defined waist, the skirt heavy enough to conceal the problem, but she didn't know how much longer she had before she woke up with a belly that nothing could explain away.
Her options seemed limited. One, she could finally confess her pregnancy and tell Luthias it was his—which it very likely was—hoping to God that the baby who came out in seven-or-so months didn't have red hair. Two, she could tell him the truth, that this might be a Wolf's child, and then hope that he didn't look at her every day after that as though she were damaged goods—if he was even willing to keep her around. Three, she could avoid all of that by packing her things and heading straight back to Vegas, where she knew places that would pay her plenty for stripping while pregnant.
Unfortunately, she had a habit of running from hard decisions. The afternoon she should have spent confronting her reality, she found herself standing on the shoreline a walk from the palace walls, gazing out over the restless sea. The waves frothed with foam that day, though it disintegrated before the tide could touch her feet. She wriggled her toes into the sand. A hermit crab scuttled past with a diagonal trajectory, as if to slyly avoid the oncoming wave. When the wave crashed into him regardless, knocking him halfway up the beach, Elizabeth couldn't help but laugh. For a moment, things were simpler.
The wind tugged at her dress, blowing it back and wrapping the material tight around her middle. She looked down to see the impression her belly made, roundness pressing out where it had never been before. As uncomfortable as the circumstances made her, she couldn't help a brimming fascination with the changes in her body. Thinking she was alone, she pressed her hands against the swell, exploring it as though it were something apart from her. The intrusion of Avery's voice struck her cold.
"Father was asking after you."
Elizabeth froze, as if that would somehow prevent Avery from seeing her. She could already feel his penetrating gaze on her body, particularly the incriminating way her hands cupped her swollen stomach. She knew she was caught. Though she quickly folded her arms over her chest, acknowledging the man who suddenly stood at her side, she could say nothing that would diffuse the tension that settled between them.
Avery regarded her with that discomforting smile she had often seen from afar. He had a marked resemblance to his father, despite a surprisingly youthful face—but unlike Lord Luthias, whose stern face offered fleeting kindness that only Elizabeth could coax forth, Avery offered his smile casually and without sincerity. His was the grin of a politician.
"Why the long face?" he asked. "It looks like congratulations are in order."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You don't think I'm that stupid, do you?" he asked, his tone too smooth for the bite of his remark. "Feigning ill, doctors clocking in and out, you insisting on sleeping in your own bed again? I'm surprised Father hasn't noticed your little bun in the oven—surely he'll be delighted."
"I..."
Elizabeth struggled to think. Although understood now that she was Emilie, in a sense—the soul of Lord Luthias' parted mate recycled to her—and yet though Avery was Emilie's son, Elizabeth felt no kinship between them. Avery's presence had always been a lurking discomfort, the way he watched her distinctly cold. She felt that she needed to somehow bridge the distance between them, but he was more stranger to her than anyone else in the castle. She knew he wasn't someone to confide in. Somehow, she knew he would tell his father anything to make him doubt her.
"Please, you can't tell Luthias," she begged.
"Ah," Avery said, a brow raised. "So you are hiding something."
She stared out across the ocean, as though refusing to acknowledge his accusation would lessen its reality. She heard him sigh, like someone trying to determine what to do with a stray dog who had wandered into their yard.
"Is it not his?"
"I don't know," she said, arms folded tight around herself. "I wasn't in my right mind, and now everything's upside down..."
The confession was spilt against her will, leaving her at his mercy. Avery's resulting smirk deepened her dread; his shrug seemed the worst thing anyone had ever done to her.
"Fine," he said.
"Fine?" She was horrified.
"I'll keep your secret," he said, "with your word that you’ll pack your things and leave."
He turned on his heel, as if to leave her then, but he was courteous enough to await her answer. Her stomach curled and she stared after him, half-hoping he was teasing. But there was no levity to that cool smile. He wanted her gone; there was nothing else to it.
Though her options before had been scarce, they were now reduced to nothing. Elizabeth's arms fell to her sides with the weight of surrender, though her response ended up sounding lighthearted, mind still detached from reality.
"I'll start packing."
Elizabeth had always taken the least confrontational path, escaping her problems through one self-sabotage after another. Why change now?
Avery nodded with approval.
"That would be wise."
Then, she was alone again. Elizabeth closed her eyes, trying to focus only on the distant caw of seagulls and the lapping of the waves. Her hands pressed against her belly, as her fingertips shook. It wasn’t enough for life to keep thrusting her from one new world to the next, from sex work to the seat of the Canine monarchy, into a pack of wild Wolves, into motherhood—apparently life also had to ensure that the transition between each was as traumatic as possible.
That went well, Emilie's voice laughed.
Elizabeth choked back a sob.
E
lizabeth returned to her room immediately, unable to even manage greetings to the servants who bowed to her as she passed. In hindsight, she knew she should have spoken to them, since word of her behavior no doubt spread from them to the rest of the castle. Elizabeth had no official title, but she was still the Canine Lord's lover, making her one of the few people in the palace others paid attention to. When Kieran burst into her room, catching her in the act of stuffing modern clothes into a battered suitcase, Elizabeth couldn't speak fast enough to save herself.
"Elizabeth," Kieran said, a mix of surprise and fury crinkling his brow, "The hell do you think you're doing?"
"I'm not a prisoner,” Elizabeth managed. "I can leave when I want to, can't I?"
"Yeah, shit, but..."
Kieran fumbled for words. She noticed that his thick white hair was caught under the collar of his coat, which meant he had dressed and rushed over for the sole purpose of checking on her. Her heart broke to see the disappointment on his face, a bit of a fang revealed as he bit back his lip, cursing. Even so, she closed her suitcase with haste—if Kieran was worried, it was only a matter of time before his brother came knocking.
"I just need to go back home for a while,” she said. "Clear my head, after what happened with the Wolves. It's all been a bit much..."
"Home? You were a fucking sex worker in Vegas," Kieran snapped. "This is your home, Elizabeth. If you want to travel, let me take you out, or let the asshole fly you back to the States for a weekend. You can't just...leave..."
"I'm not Emilie," she said, perhaps too harshly. "You don't need to dote on me like you're my father."
Kieran cringed.
"You know it's not like that."
"Then let me go."
He lingered for a long moment, swaying wordlessly like she had broken him. But then he would step aside, turning his face from her. Elizabeth picked up her suitcase. Despite her welling grief, she would push past him into the hall.
Her freedom was short-lived. No sooner had she turned the corner than her escape was stopped, her path blocked by the man she had hoped desperately not to see. Today he wore a high-collared shirt, four of the buttons undone to hint at the firmness of his shoulders and chest, trousers tailored for his long legs, boots that gleamed with a fresh polish—no doubt courtesy of one of his many loyal servants—and a long overcoat black Elizabeth knew only he could wear with such dignity. Piercing gold eyes regarded her and her suitcase with chilling displeasure, rage cooled and condensed like volcanic rock.
"You're to unpack your bag and report to my study."
She didn’t protest. Elizabeth turned and retreated without a word; only when she was at her door again did she hear his footsteps fading back down the hall.
Kieran was still in her room, sitting on her bed with his head in his hands. When she entered, he stood abruptly.
"You're not leaving?" he asked.
Seeing the look on her face, however, he sighed.
"Luthias?"
She nodded. He smiled dully, gesturing her over.
"I'll help you unpack."
It took all her courage to visit Lord Luthias' study. She could hardly leave now, since doing so would be violating a direct request, which would lead to the very confrontation she had been trying to avoid. Besides, he had done so much to see that she was cared for that it felt wrong to leave without saying anything. And so, she stood outside the double doors in the east wing of the palace, frozen in place.
You adorable coward, said the voice. Lived on raw meat and crickets with a pack of Wolves, but God forbid you need to look a man in the eye and tell him the truth.
She held her head, paused by a few deep breaths. Sometimes that helped. When she was sure no foreign thoughts would disturb her, she pushed open the doors.
Elizabeth had seen Luthias' study only rarely, as most of their rendezvous happened in the bedroom or the gardens. Like his bedroom, decorations were sparse but tasteful: an unadorned fireplace burned steadily behind a wire screen, warming two chairs cozy enough for reading, though they were dusty from neglect. His desk was against the wall, its surface covered with documents and pens, an old-fashioned quill resting in an ink well along the far side.
Luthias himself was by the window. He was still, observing the city of Canine Demons that stretched out below them, where Elizabeth had yet to venture. He must have heard her arrive, yet greeted her with silence.
"...I'm here," she said.
His eyes flickered towards her, lingered, then returned to the view.
"The doors," he said.
Swallowing hesitation, she would close herself in with him.
"Has my hospitality not been enough for you?" he asked, with a tone that made her shudder. "You believe it courteous to walk out after sharing my home, my wealth, and my bed? After I tore apart a pack of demons to ensure your safety?"
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
At last, he faced her, revealing a wildness of emotion that she knew he resented. His jaw was tight, stare harsh beneath a creased brow, clawed nails of his right hand digging into his leg.
"Explain yourself."
Overcome, she pressed back against the doors, unable to think.
"I just...needed to go."
Her sudden movement must have captured his interest. She grew pale when his attention fell from her face to her middle, where her growing bulge was no longer entirely concealed by the looseness of her gown. Perhaps she might have claimed weight gain had the last few weeks not been spent in such secrecy, her constant nausea not been well-known, and her purposeful forging of corsets that castle custom demanded not already raised a red flag. He knew, then; she knew that he knew.
"You are..."
For once, he was at a loss. The silence that followed settled for far too long. Unable to bear it, Elizabeth's confession poured forth.
"I would have told you right away, but the doctor said that I might have conceived when I was with the pack, when Emilie seduced Rion—it might not be yours." Tears brimmed when she admitted this, though she did her best to bite them back. "If it's not yours...I'll just be a burden to you. I can't ask you to raise a baby that isn't yours."
When he regarded her with further silence, she bit her tongue to keep herself from sobbing. Such abandon didn't seem right, in his presence. Yet though he initially showed disgust, this faded to something else. His hand rose to cup her chin, gently lifting her gaze to his.
"Allow me to tell you something," he said. "Say nothing until the end."
She nodded with acceptance, and he released her. Luthias folded his arms, appearing to withdraw temporarily into his own thoughts.
"I am not like Kieran. His human mother, a stain on our lineage, raised him with human values. One of these values is that love is given freely among family, and should exist when one makes lasting ties with another. These values he passed to Emilie, reinforced further by her own human mother. When Emilie and I developed an interest in one another, I assumed she was forsaking her human upbringing, which would have forbade our union as unholy—I assumed wrongly that she saw me as another Canine Demon would see me, as an advantageous partner who would give her protection and children of status. As for my interest in her, I felt that her partling blood would make our offspring less than ideal, but her beauty and the promise of enraging my halfling brother made it a fair bargain.
"I bed her, she soon became pregnant, and I continued my business. It confused me that she wasn't content with this. She undermined me at every turn. She knew she wasn't meant to be seen at certain events, as my taking a partling to my bed was considered distasteful—yet she went out of her way to not only make it known who and what she was, she would describe to visiting dignitaries the details of my most private habits. Even after Avery was born she continued this insolence, despite the coming child no longer preventing me from disciplining her like the ungrateful bitch—”
Luthias stopped then, eyes closed, a breath taken. He went on.
“I understand now: she did this because she felt I hadn't fulfilled my obligation to her...to return her love for me. She must have known that that word was not something familiar to me. My father was a warlord. My mother paid me no mind. I was taught what needed to be taught, trained in my power, and brought up to rule when my father perished. Such human values had no place. I explained this to Emilie, and she didn’t care. She continued with that infuriating way she was, until I found I no longer wanted her to change."
His manner softened. Elizabeth felt her heart flutter when their eyes met again, his quiet calm returned, as she had always known it.
"I still cannot say it easily," he said, closing the distance between them. "My tongue forms the words...clumsily. So, I will say this once, to you."
His elegant hand held her cheek; she leaned into his touch.
"You are her, different though you are in this life. What she spent so long teaching me remains now, like a cancer I can't cut out. It's embedded itself so deeply that I would raise a Wolf's bastard before I let you leave my side. Because...I'm in love, with you."
Elizabeth hardly knew what to say. Her body was filled with warmth, her inexplicable yearning for him burning anew. She touched the hand that touched her cheek, all her worries fading, her voice returned.
"I love you too," she whispered.
For the first time in weeks, he kissed her. His fangs didn't seem as sharp now, though his mouth was greedy, stealing her breath as his hands fell down her sides, clasping her back, forcing her body tight against his.
Before she knew it, her back was against his desk; Luthias knocked the papers and even the ink well to the ground before he lifted her to sit on its surface, where her hips were level with his. She spread her legs, hooking them around his waist as he pulled her dress over her head, revealing her changed body.
Instinctively, her hands pressed over her chest and belly, though neither could be hidden by one palm at this point. Luthias rolled his eyes. He moved her hands aside; shedding his overcoat, he leaned down to kiss her breast where it bulged around an ill-fitting bra, squeezing her with cups now too shallow to contain her. He went to his knees, slowly unbuttoning his shirt as he even kissed her belly, accepting its presence.
Now, she was sitting at the very edge of the desk, her knees pressed into the strong chest left bare where his shirt hung open. Her breath caught with excitement when he slid down her panties, letting them fall to the floor before he pushed her legs up and around his shoulders. She clutched to his hair, moaning as he pressed her lips apart, allowing cool air to caress her folds. The bridge of his nose nestled against her clit before his tongue sank deep, opening her in a rare and wonderful pleasure.
"Oh god," she whispered, her toes digging into his back. His tongue darted deeper and she cried out again—“Jesus!"
He sucked at the firmness of her walls, first one side, and then the other, drawing noises from her she didn't know she could make. She was wet now from his saliva and her own cum, wet enough to drip on his desk when her feet cupped his shoulders—she nearly squatted against his face, fingers buried in his raven locks as he licked and sucked her desperate cunt. His tongue rolled her clit and she climaxed abruptly, her slit clenching around nothing, her growing belly tighter as she groaned.
"Luthias...lord Christ..."
She heard his deep chuckle, his hand squeezing her inner thigh.
"Wrong lord," he muttered.
He stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his clawed hand as the other removed his belt; she felt before she saw how he bulged against the material, his member struggling to find room for its tremendous length. Though she had only just finished, her pussy dripped anew when he loosed his hard cock from the seam, rubbing the shaft briefly to free it of the impression left by the zipper. The desk was of such perfect height that he fit effortlessly between her thighs, her entrance teased open when he merely pressed closer to kiss her. Her slit squeezed against his head with anticipation, her emptiness seeming now unbearable.
"Please," Elizabeth whispered, arms wrapping around his neck. "It's been so long..."
Luthias grasped her hips, stepping a breath closer, his stiff head sinking slightly deeper. Her whimper was silenced by his kiss, which she shared eagerly. Her tongue tangled with his in shock when he suddenly stuffed her full, thrusting deep.
"F-fuck me," she gasped.
His nails dug into her hips as he thrust, harder, deeper, the cavern between her legs struggling to accommodate how much of him longed to squeeze inside. She gorged herself on him, forced to lean back and grip the back of his desk as she spread her legs far—she begged for more. She choked when his hand left her hip to grab her knee, spreading her wider as his cock swelled against her walls. He pulsed inside her, pounding her until her sweet spot gasped. Her slit trembled with delight, her throat emitting this long, uncontrolled moan. He rode her quivering walls until his own pleasure burst forth, and he had no choice but to loose himself from her quim.
Aching, not wanting to leave more of a mess on his desk, Elizabeth found herself cupping her slit to keep the slosh of his seed inside her. Meanwhile, bothered now by his own spontaneity, Luthias was cramming his limp member back into his trousers. He wiped the lingering wetness of the hand that touched it on his sleeve, averting his eyes. Elizabeth laughed—she couldn't help it.