Unwanted Mate Of The Lycan Kings (by jessica hall)

Chapter 39

I blink at him, wondering if he is about to toss me out the open window behind him that is letting in the

icy breeze that moves the curtains. My eyes dart to it, and I swallow before glancing at the King. He

looks over his shoulder at what I’m staring at and I swallow hard.

“Unless you’re a bird and have wings, I wouldn’t recommend it,” he states, shaking his head before

walking.

He places me on the edge of his bed and grabs my ankle. He twists it and I hiss. “Sorry,” he mutters,

and my eyes move to his.

Gnash comes over, staring up at him, almost looking expectantly at him, and Regan sighs. “I am, so

stop looking at me like that!” Regan clicks his tongue.

“I believe this is three favors you owe me now!” Regan tells me. He lifts an eyebrow waiting for my

response.

“In that case, I would rather heal on my own, and for the record, I owe you nothing!” I pull my ankle

from his grip and scoot back on the bed. He growls, grabbing my ankle and ripping me toward him. His

hand moves from my ankle down the back of my leg and stops behind my knee. He leans over me, and

I gasp as he presses my knee to my chest, and leaning closer, his nose skims across my cheek to my

ear.

“If I remember correctly, you owe me for agreeing with you against my father to not kill those girls.” he

purrs, and a shiver runs up my spine, yet not the same way it does with Zeke.

“He was never going to kill them!” I tell him, trying to focus on anything other than his body pressing

against mine.

“He would have to prove a point.” Regan lifts his head, his pelvis presses against me. “You also owe

me for that rule, I added.”

“I never asked you to add it!” I snap at him, and his lips brush mine with his next words.

“I could have handed you over to Zeke, but I didn’t.” I swallow. “Regan?” I stammer when he presses all

his weight against me, trapping me beneath him and he groans, his breath sweeping across my lips.

“Instead, I urged Gnash to help you, to come for you!”

“He would have anyway!” I reply when he pulls away and grabs my face.

“Gnash wasn’t even here,” Regan whispers, turning my face to the open balcony door I hadn’t noticed

earlier. “He came because I called for him!” I turn back to look at him.

“And why would you do that?” I ask him.

“Because today you’re mine! And I am not losing my Kingdom because Zeke killed you on my watch,”

he says, pushing off the mattress and looking down at me. My eyes trail over his naked tattooed chest

and down his abs. My face heats, and I glance away from him.

“Therefore you owe me!”

“I’m not sucking your dick!” I glare at him.

“I never asked you to, but if you insist I won’t say no.” he laughs, grabbing himself. My eyes dart to his

hand, grasping his cock, which is hard as a rock, and I swallow, wondering if I escaped one horrid

situation with Zeke only to run into another.

He smirks but lets his cock go. Instead, he reaches down and grabs my ankle, lifting it. I try to tug away

when he arches a brow at me.

He licks his thumb and brushes it over the puncture marks on my ankle, and my skin tingles and warms

beneath his touch, as I watch, amazed and the wounds close.

He lets me go. I sit up, looking at my ankle. “How did you do that?” I ask, staring at it.

“My saliva, much like my blood. It has healing properties. Be careful your ankle will still be tender but at

least the wounds have closed.”

“You can heal people?” he points to my ankle, and I realize what a stupid question that was to ask

when the evidence is right in front of my face. A moment passes when a knock sounds on the door.

King Regan peers over at it before turning on his heel, his back straightening as he heads to answer it. Please check at N/ôvel(D)rama.Org.

I glance down, ensuring I’m covered, just as he opens the door, and a servant rushes in with a large

silver tray. She sets it on the bedside table without even taking a glimpse at me then she runs out. King

Regan shuts the door, drawing my attention to him and the tattoos that lace his tan skin.

His abs ripple under his skin as he moves around the room while I try to see the tattoos that cover both

arms, shoulders, and chest. Watching him, he walks into his closet before I have a chance to examine

them further.

When he returns, he is holding a thick, black robe. He walks over to me before holding it out to me. I

peek up at him, and he tilts his head to the side while I gape in shock at him wondering where the

monster has gone or if he has a head injury from our fall.

He clears his throat awkwardly, and a hint of a smile graces his face. “Zirah, take the robe!” he says,

and I raise an eyebrow at him.

“I’m fine!” I retort, it wasn’t even cold in here since he has his fire going unlike my igloo of a room.

“No, you’re cold, here” he states, thrusting the robe toward me when a smirk creeps onto his face.

“I don’t want your robe; I just want to get breakfast over so I can shower and rest my ankle!” I snap at

him; he raises an eyebrow at me. He looks away, his lips tugging into a smile.

“Fine, suit yourself then. I just thought you would prefer some coverage!” he shrugs, grabbing the

breakfast tray and wandering over to the armchairs in front of the fireplace. He sets the tray on the

coffee table then falls into one of the armchairs.

“I thought you wanted breakfast over with?” he motions to the other chair while tossing the robe over

the armrest of his chair. Shaking my head at his odd behavior, I wander over to the chair, limping, trying

not to put weight on my ankle.

“It’s a bit nipply this morning. Are you sure you don’t want the robe?” he asks with a chuckle; his eyes

move slowly down to my breasts before they flick back up to my face. I glare at him before glancing

down at the tray. Seeing some fruit, I snatch an apple from the tray and reach for the juice. Sniffing it, I

find it to be orange juice.

I take a sip, drinking some of the sweet, pulpy goodness when I notice Regan watching me with a

smug expression on his face. He leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his broad chest.

“Your tattoos; what do they say?” I ask him, my eyes roaming over pictures and words that are in a

foreign language. However, I recognize the runes because they are the same as mine.

King Regan shrugs. “It’s the curse that was placed on my family. Along with the curse that is placed on

me!”

“You were cursed? Is that why you hate witches?” I ask him while wondering if it was the same curse

Granny spoke of about the Lycans.