Chapter 3. Mine

Lucien helped Medusa carry Rhysand to her quarter. The grace and mercy of the Rogue Princess has been far beyond question, she wasn't prejudiced ever, but right then it seemed like she had forgotten the world in front of her mate.

“I will wait outside, Medusa.” Lucien waited for the approval which never came because the said girl’s eye was transfixed on the tanned man in front of her, on his stomach laying on her bed.

Lucien couldn’t help but cr*ck a little smile, it was the first time in years she seemed like a little child watching her favorite prohibited candy in the jar but then to a small part of her remained serious as she without a thought took off her mate’s tattered clothes immediately covering him with a cool blanket.

Not for a second straying from her aim, she respected Rhysand so much, maybe it wasn’t much for male wolves to roam naked but she never knew if Rhysand would like that, she would not risk his modesty…never.

Lucien kept all the essential medicines on the table and left the array of tents.

Medusa didn’t register that she is alone with her destiny. Her eyes welled up on examining his wounds. She didn’t care if people saw her crying and wailing on them but she felt ashamed that he had to go through that alone.

Angry purple bruises battered his back despite the werewolf healing and beneath them a pattern of white scars littered his body, which were not fresh at all, a year old at least.

She applied the healing embrocation and shining pearl droplets continued to trail her cheeks at the sickening thought of someone hurting her precious mate and the second they ceased blinding rage clouded her vision.

Hissing of raged snakes could be heard throughout the tent not bothering their unconscious mate because they already loved him too much to cause him discomfort or pain.

“I, Medusa, the Enforcer of Rogues, follower of moon goddess and Luna Queen Persephone, her grace myself and in her highest presence, take the vow to be the cause of the downfall of the entire legacy and heritage of the wolves that were my mate’s tormentor. The highest honor of a wolf – his tail and the nose which would have been held high during my mate’s torment would be my first offerings to you my mother queen followed by a torment cruel enough to freeze Inferno.”

That whole night the Rogue Princess didn’t sleep, not even for a second her hands stopped. They were either tending to Rhysand’s wounds or looking after him.

At dawn, with the onset of the first rays of sun breaking the barrier of clouds and sweeping through their pores entered Medusa’s tent encasing the beautiful shade on the face of the sleeping male.

Rhysand groaned, trying to peel his eyes open and for the first time in decades his soul was at peace despite the little pain his body was in. He felt rejuvenated and his wolf crazy.

Fluttering his eyes open, he tried to recognize the place only to recall the events of last night.

“Please lay down, it’s okay.”

Golden orbs clashed with purple irises. And for a second his breathing stopped.

She was a goddess, ambrosia nectar herself; one glance at her was enough to rejuvenate lives, to bring back the dead. Almond shaped lilac eyes stared at him with awe and he couldn’t comprehend what that five-feet-four sin could see in him.

The way her silver strands fell down her waist made him thread his fingers through it…forever and then kiss it till eternity.

Her face is of an angel and the stance of a warrior. He wanted to make love to each and every pore of her soul. Bedding himself deep in her heart and tucking her body near his chest, he wanted to get on his knees before her.

The red lips of the seductress parted in arousal and he wished he could smell her forever… addictive, pure sin, love and lust, all poured together was she.

On the other hand, Medusa couldn’t think straight, madness encased her…his broad shoulders were thrice her petite figure, his muscles were enough to pick her up with one of his arm and put her down on his cock making her experience stars, stopping time as she screamed his name in blinding pleasure that his golden aurum irises promised.

Those golden orbs were windows to her soul, she could see in them and find herself more beautiful than she ever imagined…divine, Rhysand’s eyes were divine, stunning.

His chest was inked with a wolf howling to the moon and her lips itched to kiss him on his heart. Touch him like he was her god and tug his chocolate silky strands.

If Rhysand thought she was his sin then Medusa thought he was her virtue.

And that jaw of his, she couldn’t imagine how such a marvelous man was paired with her. He was poetry and lust personified… art in personification.

“W-what is your name?”

“I am Medusa…Rhysand,” she whispered.

“Baby girl, you are mine.”