My Second Chance Mate is a Barbarian (Sera and Fenris) novel Chapter 144

Irina

You ever feel a sound before you actually hear it? That heavy, rhythmic vibration that starts in the soles of your feet and crawls straight up the marrow of your bones?

That’s what the Ironmaw drums were doing. I was standing perfectly still in the center of my guest quarters, staring at the cold stone wall, but my entire body was humming. The low, relentless thump-thump-thump of the celebration outside was bleeding through the floorboards.

I walked over to the wooden washbasin and plunged my hands into the freezing water. I splashed it over my face, my neck, and my chest, scrubbing my skin until it turned a raw, blotchy red. I wanted Torin’s pathetic, panicked sweat off me. I wanted the smell of his cheap lavender oil completely gone.

I grabbed a rough linen towel and dried off, throwing it onto the floor. I stood there naked, shivering from the draft, but the freezing air wasn't doing a damn thing to put out the fire burning between my legs. My cunt throbbed. It was a heavy, deep, persistent ache that Torin’s soft, frantic fumbling hadn't even come close to satisfying.

I needed a drink. I needed something dark and incredibly strong to numb the buzzing in my head, because if I stayed alone in this quiet room for one more minute with the thought of that barbarian Alpha fucking my daughter right now while I was left shivering and starved for it, I was going to lose my mind.

I walked over to my trunks. I didn't reach for the heavy northern furs they had provided for us. I reached for my own clothes. I pulled out a structured Valdris gown made of dark, heavy crimson silk. I laced the corset myself, pulling the strings tight enough to restrict my breathing. I smoothed the heavy skirts down. It was my armor. I needed to feel the tight, restrictive squeeze of southern tailoring to remind myself exactly who I was. I was the Queen of Valdris. I was not some feral animal.

I unlocked the heavy oak door and stepped out into the corridor.

The immediate shift in the air hit mel. My room had been cold and stale, but the hallway was thick. It was suffocatingly warm. I could smell the heavy, raw mixture of roasting meat, burning pine, spilled alcohol, and sweat. But under all of that, I could smell something else.

I kept my chin high and started walking. My soft leather slippers made barely any noise against the stone. I didn't know exactly where I was going, but I knew the main kitchens were somewhere in the eastern wing. They would have the strong liquor they imported.

I turned a corner into a long, dimly lit corridor. The torchlight was flickering, casting long, erratic shadows across the walls. The thumping of the drums was getting much louder here. I spotted a heavy wooden door slightly ajar at the end of the hall. The sharp, earthy smell of aged wine drifted out from the crack.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

It was a storage alcove, completely dark except for the moonlight bleeding through a narrow, grated window near the ceiling. The air was cool and smelled heavily of cured meats, dried herbs, and oak barrels.

I took two steps inside before the massive shadow in the corner shifted.

My breath caught in my throat. A man sat on a large wooden ale cask in the darkest corner of the room. He rested his back against the stone wall, one knee pulled up with his arm draped casually over it. A leather wineskin hung loosely from his thick fingers.

He was huge. His shoulders stretched the seams of a dark linen shirt left open halfway down his chest. Thick, jagged white scars crisscrossed his tanned skin. He had dark, messy hair and a thick beard. He watched me from the shadows. The whites of his eyes gleamed faintly in the low light.

"The main hall is three corridors down, southern woman," he said. His voice was a deep, rough rumble that carried a heavy northern drawl.

I squared my shoulders, putting on my coldest, most royal glare. "I am looking for a drink. Fetch me a cup and find a clean bottle."

He took a slow drink from his wineskin, swallowed audibly, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His dark eyes trailed slowly from the top of my intricate updo down to the hem of my crimson skirts.

"I look like a servant to you?" he asked.

"You look like a man occupying a room I wish to use," I replied sharply. "Leave."

He chuckled. It was a deep, chest-rattling sound of pure amusement. He stood up.

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