The Secret Heirs of the Lycan King (by Misha K) novel Chapter 69

**When Midnight Winds Carry Secrets Toward Worlds Yet Unknown**

**Chapter 69**

**Bella**

I couldn’t quite grasp why the doctor seemed so oblivious, his demeanor infuriating me. How could he declare that Scott was “fine” after just a few hours when it was painfully evident that he was anything but?

“B-but he is a Lycan, an-and—” My voice trembled, caught between desperation and disbelief.

“Please,” I insisted, my tone unwavering. “He needs rest!”

Scott, with a flicker of defiance, cracked one eye open just enough to throw a piercing glare at the doctor, a look so intense it drained the color from the physician’s face.

“Y-yes,” the doctor stammered, his confidence crumbling. “Yes. The King is still… very fragile. He must not be disturbed. At all. For any reason.”

I narrowed my eyes, frustration boiling within me. “He almost died,” I reminded him, my voice low and fierce. “You should be taking his condition more seriously.”

“Y-yes,” the doctor agreed hastily, his voice shaky. “Very serious. Terrible condition. Needs… exactly this kind of care. From you. I’ll just—leave now.”

He retreated from the room, backing away as if he were escaping a perilous negotiation, and shut the door behind him with a quiet click.

I blinked in disbelief. “You should throw him out!” I muttered under my breath, my irritation still simmering.

As soon as the door clicked shut, I felt Scott’s arms slide around my waist, encircling me with a gentle yet firm grip. He nestled his face into my side, his body relaxing against mine as if he found solace in my presence.

“My baby…” I murmured softly, resuming the rhythmic motion of stroking his hair. “I’m not going anywhere,” I whispered, hoping to soothe him further.

His fingers tightened around my waist in response, a silent acknowledgment of my words. When he finally succumbed to sleep, I carefully lifted his arms and slipped out of bed to attend to my urgent need. After a moment, I returned and settled beside him once more. Instinctively, his arms curled around me again, and his face nestled right back in my lap. The warmth of his breath against my thighs sent a shiver through me, stirring emotions I struggled to suppress.

It felt so wrong, so utterly inappropriate to entertain thoughts of cupping his face, kissing those lips that had tasted the bitterness of pain, tracing my tongue over the intricate tattoos that adorned his chest, and then trailing down, down, until my lips found their way to his cock. The very thought made my heart race, and I forced myself to push those urges away.

No, God, no. I silently prayed for clarity, for strength, pleading not to become this sexually frustrated woman who was disregarding the gravity of his condition.

I tried desperately to divert my thoughts, to think of anything other than the man lying so vulnerably with his head in my lap. I attempted to conjure images of Nancy, wondering if she had fed the twins properly. I thought of my shop, the unfinished work that awaited me, and even of Tasha, who was out there somewhere, darting around like a frightened rat. I even tried to recall Elder Cass and his recent outburst.

But nothing worked.

Every time my mind wandered, it inevitably returned to Scott, heavy and warm against my thighs, his breath a gentle caress. My fingers wove through his hair, and with each stroke, my body betrayed me, igniting a war of desire that felt absurd given the circumstances. He had nearly lost his life, and here I was, engaged in a ridiculous battle with my own hormones.

“Focus,” I whispered to myself, but my thoughts refused to obey. They kept circling back to the very spot where his face rested, tantalizingly close.

I shifted slightly, spreading my knees a bit wider, and Scott instinctively adjusted himself, his face now even closer to my core. Heat surged up my neck as I fought against the urge to combust.

Then, I felt it—a soft kiss. I froze, questioning my senses. Was I imagining it?

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