Page 19 of Mane Attraction
Just tonight,he told himself, reaching for the strongest bottle he owned.Tonight, I’m going to drown every feeling until there’s nothing left but blessed numbness.
The first drink burned down his throat like liquid fire, but it wasn’t nearly enough to quiet the voices in his head telling him he’d failed the one man who’d always believed he could be better.
Something warm and insistent shook Lev’s shoulder, pulling him from the black depths of alcohol-induced unconsciousness. His head felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to his skull. Sunlight streamed through his bedroom windows with the brutal intensity of a solar flare, each ray stabbing through his retinas like molten spears.
“Lev.” The voice cut through his misery—familiar, controlled, tinged with something that might have been concern. “You need to wake up. Now.”
He moved his head and immediately regretted it. The world spun in nauseating circles, but through the haze of pain and nausea, he saw her. Xelene stood beside his bed, elegant andcomposed despite the early hour, wearing a sleek black dress that made his chest tighten with recognition.
Black. Mourning colors.
TWELVE
LEV
The memory of last night crashed over him like a tidal wave. His father was dead. King Rorick Marcan, the most formidable lion shifter Lev had ever known, was gone. The man who’d spent decades preparing his son for leadership had died while Lev was playing house with his reputation consultant, too caught up in wine and her intoxicating presence to even carry his communicator.
“The viewing,” Lev croaked, his voice raw from a night of drowning his sorrows in expensive liquor. “What time?—”
“In an hour,” Xelene said, her tone brisk but not unkind. “I’ll escort you as your girlfriend. We’re still maintaining the charade, remember?”
Charade.
If only she knew there was nothing fake about the connection between them, nothing artificial about the way his lion had recognized her the moment she’d walked into his father’s office. The mate bond thrummed between them even now, a constant ache he couldn’t ignore.
Lev wanted nothing more than to reach for her, to pull her against his chest and let her steady presence anchor him through the storm of grief threatening to tear him apart. He wantedto tell her the truth—that she wasn’t just his hired consultant but his destined mate, the other half of his soul that he’d been unconsciously searching for through years of meaningless encounters.
Instead, he forced himself to sit up, biting back a groan as the room tilted dangerously. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to function today.”
Xelene’s green eyes assessed him with professional detachment, though he caught a flicker of something softer beneath the surface. She pulled out his questionnaire from her purse, the paper slightly wrinkled from being folded. “According to this delightfully honest assessment you filled out, you’ve been drunk five hundred and forty-seven times. That’s quite a track record for someone your age.”
Despite everything, Lev almost smiled. “I made that number up. Couldn’t actually remember the real count.”
“I did the math based on your other answers.” Her lips curved in what might have been amusement. “The actual number is probably closer to eight hundred, maybe more.”
“Probably more.” He rubbed his temples, trying to massage away the pounding headache. “Doesn’t make this morning any easier though.”
Without a word, Xelene moved to his walk-in closet with the efficiency of someone who’d taken charge of countless crisis situations. She emerged with his ceremonial jacket and trousers—formal attire befitting a crown prince attending his father’s viewing. The sight of the rich navy fabric with its gold threading and pride insignia made Lev’s stomach twist.
“Get dressed,” she said, laying the clothes on his bed with careful precision. “I’ll get you water and aspirin.”
“Thank you.” The words came out rougher than he’d intended, weighted with more gratitude than simple hangover assistance warranted.
She paused at the door, those perceptive green eyes studying his face. “Five minutes, Lev. Then we leave.”
After she disappeared into the hallway, Lev forced himself to stand on unsteady legs. The charcoal button-down and dark jeans he’d passed out in reeked of alcohol and desperation. He stripped them off with mechanical movements, his mind still struggling to process the magnitude of what lay ahead.
The throne was his now—not someday in the distant future, but immediately, as soon as he could prove himself worthy through the Trial of the Sun. And that trial was only five days away.
Lev pulled on the ceremonial jacket and trousers, his hands shaking slightly as he fastened the belt. The weight of the formal jacket settled across his shoulders like a mantle of responsibility he’d never wanted.
Once in the bathroom, looking in the mirror, he confronted the face of the Marcan Lion Pride Dominion’s new king-in-waiting.
The man staring back at him looked like hell. Bloodshot eyes and hair sticking up at odd angles from a night of tossing restlessly between drinking and unconsciousness. But beneath the evidence of his breakdown, Lev recognized something else—the strong jaw and piercing blue eyes that marked him unmistakably as his father’s son.
What a selfish idiot you’ve been,he thought, attempting to tame his golden hair.Father was trying to prepare you, and you were too busy chasing freedom to see the vultures circling.
Because that’s what Councilor Christoph and his ambitious son Crispin were—political vultures waiting for Lev to stumble so they could challenge him and seize power for their own bloodline. His father had been a brilliant strategist; he’d known the threats to Lev’s claim better than anyone. The urgencybehind finding Lev a mate, behind pushing for the Trial of the Sun, behind hiring Gerri Wilder—it all made sense now.
