Page 74 of Hunt Me

“I have something for you.”

Matilda glanced over her shoulder to find her lover cradling a white nightgown in his arms. She recognized it as the same ethereal gown in the back of her wardrobe. She never wore it because she knew it belonged to Anastasia. The white one had a faint perfumed scent unlike the other robes and dresses. She sighed, knowing he would ask her to wear it for him, and she’d have to let him down gently.

“What is it, Luka?” she asked, giving him her undivided attention. Luka swallowed harshly, unsure where the sudden spike of anxiety came from. He cleared his throat again before proceeding.

“Would you do me the honor of wearing this tonight?”

“Is there something wrong with my dress?” she asked softly.

“Of course not. I—”

“No,” Matilda replied firmly. Luka stared at her, momentarily stunned by the rejection.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not her.”

Luka clutched the dress in his fingers. “I know you’re not her,” he remarked through clenched teeth. “You are far from her, but—”

“No, Luka. I—”

Matilda jerked in surprise when Luka threw the nightgown onto the floor and barreled out of the cottage. She peeked out the window and watched him storm off through the woods in a huff.

“He is too old to be throwing tantrums like a petulant child,” she fussed, retrieving the evening dress. She folded it neatly, placed it on the bed, and knelt at a clothing trunk. Matilda smirked when she pulled out the hidden gown. “This is more fitting, and I think Luka will have no choice but to agree.”

***

Luka sat alone on a stump as he worked through his emotions. He wanted to tell her that he wanted her to wear the dress because he thought it would make her look like an angel. The soft white would clash against her sepia skin under the moonlight, blinding him with her unrestrained beauty. He wasn’t utterly unreasonable; he could see how Matilda thought he might be trying to live in the past, but she couldn’t be further from the truth. He had laid his grief to rest as soon as he tasted her. He loved Anastasia immensely, but she was his past, and Matilda was his future.

He inhaled deeply, catching her changing scent as she entered the forest. Their child’s scent was beginning to mix with hers; a good sign that their offspring was healthy and strong.

“Oh, where art thou, my King? Is he hiding from me?” she called out. Her voice reached him like a whisper in the wind. “Call out to me, my King, for I am only a defenseless maiden.” Luka snorted. Defenseless? He’d wager his crown she had a few concealed daggers on her person. “My King, will you not save me? Will you allow me to cruelly perish in these treacherous woods?”

He smirked. “I thought sirens only existed in the sea.”

“We grew weary of waiting for our victims to come to us. We prayed to the gods and were granted legs.”

Luka laughed under his breath. “It seems I’ve fallen out of favor with the gods.”

“It’s presumptuous of you to believe you were ever in favor of them,” she whispered, placing the edge of her blade under his Adam’s apple.

“Will you not have mercy on me, sweet siren?” Luka queried with his back still turned to her.

“Feast your eyes upon me and see.” Luka turned and was rendered breathless at the sight of her beauty. “What do you think?” she asked with a spin.

He stood and ran a finger over her exposed shoulder, kissed by the moonlight. “I think I do have a soul after all because surely I must be in Heaven,” he whispered. Heat flooded Matilda’s cheeks as her beloved circled her and drank her in like a full chalice of the purest blood.

“Why is that?”

“Because there is an angel in my midst.”

“An angel dripping in crimson? I never heard such a thing.”

Luka became insatiable with need for his cunning queen. Unbeknownst to him, she enlisted the assistance of a seamstress to have his fallen queen’s gown replicated in the color of blood. He stopped behind her and gently cupped her throat, pulling her to him until her rounded ass was flushed against him. A low moan slipped from Matilda’s lips from the feeling of him.

“My dear, what you fail to remember is that angels are fierce fighters who are no strangers to blood and death. I apologize, my love. My intentions were not to associate you with Anastasia. I wanted to appreciate your beauty, but this…this is so much sweeter,” he whispered as his fingers skimmed her minuscule baby bump. It was starting to form, softening her taut abdominals.

“You’re forgiven. Shall we feast?” she asked, lifting the basket.