From his conversation with Mitchell Thorpe, he was aware that using this implement wasn’t something to be undertaken lightly or without a great deal of experience. If he didn’t have magic on his side, Lucan never would have attempted it without significant practice. He took protecting Anka very seriously.

“I want you to trust me, Anka.” No need to add the “or else.” It hung there, unspoken but understood.

This pause was longer, but finally she nodded. “I do.”

“Good.” He cracked the whip at his feet, letting the sound fill the bedroom.

Anka jolted as if he’d struck her, then she stilled, going into a trembling silence. The sound scared her, clearly. Likely, it brought back terrible memories.

“Last chance. Grab your robe or tell me that you’re prepared.”

Her fingers curled into fists, and her body tensed. “I’m ready.”

Lucan let her wait for long moments. He tested the weight of the whip in his hand, gauged how much magic he’d need to make his point without truly hurting her. And he let her think. If she worked this out in her head, she would know that he would never harm her.

Raising his arm and the whip, he flicked his wrist, tempering the blow with his magic and muting the cracking sound for her. The leather barely caressed her backside, the popper sliding over her skin like a whisper of a kiss.

Slowly, her head turned, and she met his gaze. “Lucan?”

“If you trust me, turn around and let me finish.”

Without another word, she faced the wall again. He repeated the process, grazing the other cheek of her arse with a slow brush. Then again. And again, never giving her more than a gentle skimming across her skin. With every lash, she relaxed, the tension leaving her shoulders, her fists uncurling. He could almost see her trust growing, and it filled him with pride. It made him goddamn ravenous for her

He planted one last lash in the place he knew would give her pause, the lightest touch yet over her lower back, a glancing sweep across the scars there. She stiffened. Then the whip was gone, and she let out a deep breath, all tension draining out.

“Do you want me to do it again?” he asked, curious for her reply.

“If you wish.”

No pleading with him to stop. No begging him to cease pushing at her comfort level. Just…acceptance and an olive branch of trust.

“If I did, do you think I would hurt you?”

“No.” Her response was automatic

He smiled and dropped the whip, prowling toward her and shoving off his jog pants. As they hit the floor, he reached Anka and grabbed her thighs. “Spread your legs.”

Again, she complied quickly, and a fresh, pungent wave of her tangy scent hit his nostrils, making his mouth water and his cock weep. Bloody hell, this woman undid him every single time he came near her.

Reaching around Anka, he took her breasts in his hands and breathed across her neck, then bent his legs and nestled the fat head of his cock right against her slick opening. He paused.

She whimpered and wriggled, trying to work his length inside her. He pinched her nipples hard to get her attention, and she gasped. Then he nipped at her earlobe. “Stay still. I’m not ready yet. I have some questions.”

“Hurry,” she pleaded.

He grabbed a fistful of the glorious blonde curls trailing down her back and yanked at them. “Once you’ve answered me, Anka. Not before. Will you keep your secrets from me anymore?”

“No.”

“Will you ever fail to tell me important information again?”

“No. I promise,” she sobbed. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

“Do you trust me?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

Lucan didn’t hesitate; he had to know. “Do you love me?”

“I always have.”

Her words flowed over him like honey. “Let me hear you say it.”

She glanced over her shoulder, their gazes fusing, her eyes glossing over with tears. “I love you.”

Fuck, he couldn’t resist anymore. He gripped her hips and, with a roar, thrust in deep inside her.

Gasping and scratching at the wall, she cried out his name. He felt her get instantly wetter.

“This is what you wanted all along, isn’t it?”

The flush crept up Anka’s skin. She stood, her pussy wet and open as she panted with each and every one of his thrusts. She’d surrendered her pleasure entirely to him, his to grant or withhold. The power was heady. It swelled inside him, a thrill all its own adding an edge to the considerable bliss already thrumming through his blood.

One hand gripped her hip. The other he slid between her legs to rub the little needy bundle of nerves, completely hard and desperate for his touch.

“Answer me, Anka!” he growled in her ear.

“Yes. I’ve fantasized about feeling the force of your desire and giving you everything…”

And he’d been too gentle to take it before, just as he hadn’t been strong enough to save her or fight for her once upon a time.

That time was long fucking gone.

He pressed her into the wall, her breasts plastered to the blue paint as he shoved into her like a piston, fast and hard, no stuttering, no respite. Just a thorough pounding into the tight fist of her pussy.

The telltale fluttering of her folds told him that her end was near. The burn of the coming climax razed his ability to hold back. It heated, pooled, started to overflow. Fuck! This time, just like every other damn time, she was going to dismantle him. With her, he couldn’t hold out. Every instinct inside him demanded that he come deep inside her and mark her again. It didn’t matter that she was already expecting his youngling. He wanted to do it once more.

But he wanted to feel her pleasure first.

“Come now, Anka,” he growled in her ear. “Right fucking now!”

He’d barely gotten the words out when she cried out in a strangled, low-pitched groan, her nails digging some of the paint from the wall as her entire body jerked and her knees started to buckle.

Holding her up with a hand around her waist and another between her legs, he let the convulsions of her sex work their magic. He grazed her clit to draw every ounce of ecstasy from her body. He gave her a hoarse shout, then the swirling knot of tension inside him released like a geyser, taking his resistance and sanity with it.

He blinked back into consciousness moments later to find his forearm braced against the wall above Anka’s head and his shaft still buried inside her wet heat. Jesus! A wave of dizziness rolled over him, and he withdrew from her, staggering to the bed with his arm wrapped around her. Together, they fell on the mattress and dissolved into a heap of arms and legs, flesh pulsing with energy galore.

Exhaustion pummeled Lucan. He closed his eyes, wondering how the fuck to process everything that had happened this morning. Besides a growing youngling, Anka had given him her trust today. Was that enough for him? For them to rebuild their love? Or was her confession simply a hundred years too late?

Chapter Sixteen

Lucan lay sprawled on his back, sleeping fitfully near her. He’d dozed off without curling into her, without touching her as usual. The meaning wasn’t lost on her. Show of trust or no, she’d kept something vital from him for over a century. The wound wouldn’t be easily or quickly healed.

For the past hour, she’d been staring at the ceiling, contemplating the future, the youngling growing inside her, and her place in the Doomsday Brethren. She knew exactly why Morganna had zapped her with the fertility spell. When Lucan heard about her conversation with Morganna, he would see the ancient witch’s plan—and likely object. Anka didn’t want to further damage their fragile relationship. She loved Lucan. At one point, he’d loved her, too. Likely, he did still, at least on some level. Unfortunately, she didn’t think staying out of this fight was an option.

She had to get to Bram. He was a scheming prat at times, but a bloody smart one. He would see reason.

As she rose from the bed, a groan broke the silence. Lucan stretched and rolled over. He opened his eyes and sought her out immediately. “Where are you going?”

She knew when she answered that it would likely start another fight, but she refused to lie if trust was going to be an issue between them. She took his hand. “I need to see Bram.”

“Why?” He sounded suspicious, with good reason.

“Well, first, I think I left my mobile somewhere in his house.”

“Rest.” Lucan rose, deliciously naked. “I’ll bring it to you.”

Something inside of her wanted to yield to him and allow him to take care of her, but that was a fantasy. They lived in the reality of war—one in which they were fighting for their very existence. “I also want to talk to him about the ways I can be useful to the cause.”

He frowned, already adopting a protective mien and looking like a warrior. “You’re pregnant now. You can’t fight.”

If they lived in a better world, she would try to help in the background and not go for the jugular of the man who had nearly destroyed her. But even if Mathias had no further plans to make her life hell, she was pretty sure Morganna was cooking up a scheme or two. Anka’s revenge was no longer the only thing that mattered. Lucan and their youngling must be more important. She had to work not only on avenging her past, but growing their future.

“I can’t sit in the corner like a helpless little girl. It won’t work.”

She made her way to the closet, wondering if she’d find any of her old clothes still inside. When Anka flipped on the light, she found everything exactly as she’d left it, neatly arranged and pressed, ready to wear. The sight of her clothes totally undisturbed touched something deep inside her. Lucan hadn’t moved on. He hadn’t even tried, really. She choked on a lump of emotion and turned to find him standing arm’s length away, watching.

“You kept everything?” He’d never thrown out her things in a heartsick rage while wishing her to hell?

He regarded her with solemn blue eyes. “I always hoped you would come home.”

That made her heart swell, her knees go weak. She pressed a tentative hand to his chest. “Do you still feel that way?”

His expression looked unreadable, closed. “I Called to you. You’re having my youngling.”

She shook her head. “You Called to me in desperation, to keep me alive. I’m having your youngling because Morganna willed it. Neither fact means that you want me here.”

Bloody hell, so much had happened between them. Could they ever mend their relationship enough to be happy together again?

He grabbed her fingers and kissed them fiercely. “Do not tell me what I want, Anka. I know.”

She worked up the courage to step closer. “There are still obstacles between us. I realize that we didn’t communicate enough when we were previously mated. I allowed my insecurities to silence the truth because I feared losing you. Since then, given all that’s happened with Mathias and Shock…I’m not certain how we put ourselves back together.”

His mouth pursed tightly. “Have you given up on us, then?”

With her clothes still hanging in his closet and her heart still belonging to him? “No. It won’t be easy, but…” A terrible thought occurred to her. “Have you?”

“I’m angry and hurt that you kept the truth from me. I’m saddened by your insecurities. I never imagined that you felt less than comfortable. I never want you to feel anything but special. Only time will tell if we can truly rebuild the faith we once had. But right now, I’ve no intention of letting you go.”

Relief swept through her. She released a pent-up breath. She’d been more than half afraid that her betrayal would eat away at Lucan’s feelings for her. “Then we’ll get through this together. But now, I must talk to Bram.”

“Why? The bastard sent you back to Shock and tried to come between us. I’d rather not give him another opportunity.”

Her face softened. “He also asked you to train me so we could spend time together and work out our problems, didn’t he?”

Lucan grumbled. “He’s still the last person either of needs to see now.” He stalked up behind her, blocking her path. “You’re not fighting, Anka. That’s final.”

“We may not have that choice.” She tore a T-shirt and a pair of jeans from hangers, then ducked under his arm and marched to the dresser to pull out some clean knickers and a bra.

Morganna had given her the special gift of this youngling—for her own purposes, yes. But Anka resolved to protect it at all costs. That meant taking matters into her own hands before someone else took them from her.

Lucan grabbed her arm. “You will not risk our youngling for your revenge.”

Giving up on revenge would be logical. Bind to Lucan, focus on her coming youngling, and put the past behind her—yes. She would try. But if she gave up the vengeance altogether, would she always be bleeding and furious inside? Would she be raw and broken and unable to move forward if she didn’t at least have some hand in bringing Mathias to his knees, the way he’d brought her to hers? What kind of mate would that make her to Lucan? What kind of mother to their precious daughter?