Curves And Claws: The Lycan King's Relentless Claim novel Chapter 39

**Fireflies in Winter Rain — Neil A. Varma**
**Chapter 39**

A sharp slap across my cheek jolted me out of my daze, the sting echoing in my mind like a thunderclap. Instinctively, I turned my head, trying to piece together the disarray swirling in my thoughts.

“Rastand!” Roana’s voice cut through the air, low and furious, as she hurled a pillow in my direction, her anger palpable.

My mind was a tangled mess, but as I finally focused on her, shock washed over me. Her lips were swollen, and the buttons of her top hung loosely, revealing a vulnerability I had never seen before. Tears shimmered in her eyes, and she trembled as if caught in an unrelenting storm.

A cold wave of realization crashed over me, chilling my spine. Had I… had I truly tried to do something to her? My heart raced, and I instinctively stepped back, feeling dizzy, as if the ground beneath me had shifted.

I glanced down at the shards of glass scattered across the floor. Oh! We had been drinking. The memories flooded back, and then it struck me—I had kissed her first.

Damn! Damn! Damn!

It had been five long years since I had shared a drink with anyone. The only person I had ever dared to drink with was Roana. After her kidnapping, I had sworn off alcohol, knowing it could unravel me, plunge me into madness, or erase everything I held dear.

What had possessed me to drink wine with Roana today? Perhaps it was the chill I had sensed in her spirit over the past few days. Maybe I was overly concerned about her well-being, especially her mental state.

I had tethered her to me for my own selfish reasons, yet I never anticipated mistaking Roana for someone else. They were worlds apart—different scents, distinct personalities, and, of course, their appearances were like night and day.

So how had I crossed that line?

“Are you alright?” I managed to croak, struggling to regain my composure as my knees threatened to buckle beneath me. Her expression caught me off guard; she was glaring at me with a fierce intensity that felt foreign.

No one—absolutely no one—had ever dared to slap me and then hold my gaze with such piercing eyes.

Yet, strangely, it ignited something deep within me. Once again, our mate-bond pulsed with a raw energy, alive and insistent. I reached out, my hand brushing against her cheek, gently wiping away her tears.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was just a bit—”

“Enough!” She yanked my hand away, her voice sharp as a dagger. “Look at me closely, you jerk. I am not your fucking Elle. I am not her placeholder, even in bed!”

I stumbled back, caught off guard. Did she just say Elle? How could she possibly know her name? My heart raced as I gripped her wrist, my body trembling with a mix of confusion and anger.

Cyrus, the beast within me, stirred with a ferocity that sent shivers down my spine. His claws scraped against my skin, awakened by her words. The mere mention of Elle’s name made him snarl with rage; he wanted Roana—only her.

“How do you know Elle? I never spoke of her to you. You shouldn’t even know her name! Where did you hear—?”

She stared at me, disbelief etched across her face, before shoving me away. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Your Majesty!” she scoffed, her eyes brimming with disdain. “You kissed me, tried to undress me, and then called me by a different name! Now you want to know where I heard it? Are you out of your mind, or are you just playing with me?”

I had called her Elle? The realization struck me like a thunderclap, further muddling my already chaotic thoughts. The alcohol had clearly clouded my judgment. Did I truly cross that line with her and call her by another woman’s name?

Cyrus growled again, his fury palpable. Not Elle. Never Elle. Only mate. His anger coursed through me like wildfire, clenching my fists until my knuckles turned white.

What am I? A lovesick fool who can’t move past his first love even after five long years?

I sank onto the edge of the bed, my hands cradling my head in despair. The boundaries between us felt impossibly fragile, and I couldn’t deny how hard it was to maintain them.

Every time I caught a whiff of her scent—an intoxicating jasmine—I felt a tight knot form in my stomach. Cyrus stirred restlessly, yearning to hold her, to claim her, to mark her as his own. His claws scraped insistently at the surface of my mind, demanding that I surrender to the inevitable.

Perhaps the wine had provoked this turmoil. It had been years since I had shared intimacy with anyone. Even during Cyrus’s most primal urges, I would immerse myself in ice-cold baths rather than succumb to temptation.

But today, why had I…

“Maybe we should just sleep in separate rooms, Your Majesty. It was bound to happen. We are destined mates, and our bond will always complicate things. But I refuse to endure this kind of humiliation ever again. It’s better to—”

“No!” I nearly growled, my voice cold and unyielding, Cyrus rumbling beneath the surface. “This is my fault for making such a mistake. I shouldn’t have drunk the wine in the first place. But…”

I inhaled deeply, my fingers trembling. “I apologize for calling you by a different name. You are the first person I’ve kissed in five years. So, when I was drunk, all I could think about was her.”

“Seriously? How did you survive the last five years? I mean, a Lycan’s rut is different and lasts longer than an average werewolf’s!”

Her tone shifted dramatically, curiosity replacing the earlier hostility in her gaze.

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