Chasing Scarlett: A Breeder Romance

15. Lorcan's Pov

Lorcan

My fingers grasp the woman’s hair tightly as her tongue swirls over my throbbing head. My eyes shut and irritation flares to life inside me. I groan, standing and pulling out of her hot, wet mouth. Her big blue eyes water. “Have I displeased you, my prince?”

I grit my teeth, shoving my c**k back in my pants. “I’d prefer you not suck my d**k like you’re scared of hurting me.” I grip her chin roughly and squeeze, letting my eyes roam over her ample breasts and the curling hair between her thighs, slick with c*m. “Perhaps, another time.”

She nods, a tear slipping down her cheek, and stands from where she kneels by my feet. I watch her walk out, her ass jiggling, inciting my lust further. The door opens before she reaches it and I sigh when Mael walks in, turning to whistle at her with a s**t-eating grin curving his mouth. “Since when did your blonde fetish die?”

Since my brother got us mated to a dark-haired woman with big blue eyes and an accent created for the sole purpose of making one think of s*x. But I say none of that to Mael. He collects secrets. I’d rather not have him know just how bad I want that woman.

“Do you have it?” I ask dryly.

Mael’s grin vanishes and he’s all business like. “You were right. It was difficult tracing the deposits back to South Africa. Smart, I’ll give her that, but she wasn’t exactly adept at covering her tracks.” He hands me a fat black envelope and I settle back against the couch as he adds grimly, “You might want to brace yourself.”

There are receipts of the home she acquired in her time there, as well as hotel bills, pictures from CCTV footages, and I have to force myself through each one, hating the way I hesitate with the urge to caress it. I don’t even like her. This is all new territory for me and I f*****g hate her for it.

I pause on the second to the last picture. She’s smiling in this one. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the woman smile. You would think turning her stole her joy and life. A f*****g privilege she treats with much scorn. She annoys me. Very much.

She isn’t alone in this picture. There’s a beautiful, caramel skinned woman beside her, brushing her hair back from her cheek with unhidden affection in her black eyes. Something tightens in my chest—hot, burning jealousy. She’s into women as well? I shake my head. No. In this picture, Scarlett doesn’t behold the African with love or reference. Her smile is fond. Friendly.

It clearly is an unrequited situationship from the African’s end. Question is, why her? From all I’ve seen and heard, Scarlett never interacted with anyone in those two years, other than an unlucky few Fae who ended up dead after impersonating humans.

I get my answer on the next picture and I freeze. Scarlett isn’t in this one. Just the African. She’s by a black convertible, in the motion of shutting the door. But I’m not looking at her. My eyes are on the child perched on her arm, tugging at her thick curls with a mischievous smile on her small face.

Brilliant blue eyes gutter with stars dancing in them, and tiny curls of black hair cover her head. I don’t need to look twice to know she’s Scarlett’s. She has her mother’s face and toothy grin. “How old?” is all I ask Mael.

“It matches the time frame,” he says quietly. “She’s one of yours.”

“Whose?”

“How the f**k am I supposed to know that, Lorcan? We can’t run DNAs on one of our kind because the tests come out inconclusive and she’s the f*****g replica of her mother.”

I stare at Mael. I’ve known him for long enough to understand how he works. Mael always has the answers to everything, it’s why he’s my eyes and ears everywhere. My most trusted friend—which says nothing, since I’ve learned to trust no one in this world of mine. His eyes won’t meet mine because he knows which of us the girl belongs to. It may be impossible to receive results from such tests, but Mael, somehow, knows. “Mael.” My voice is harsh with warning.

He sighs. “It’s right there, man. Look harder.”

My gaze drops to the picture in my grasp again and for a long time, I take in her features. There’s nothing distinctive that—I stop breathing. I didn’t notice it before because it was partly covered with her dark, glossy curls. Her ears aren’t round. They’re pointed. I hurl the picture across the room. “f*****g Fae!”

There’s only one of us who’s directly related to one of them; whose mother was Fae and scorned for mating into our race, every f*****g day before her death.

She’s Riordan’s pup.

The couch is suddenly in my hands and hurtling for the wall. Next goes the table, and I don’t stop until of the furniture is ruined and there’s nothing left to destroy. “Does he know?”

Mael leans against the wall, his hands deep in his pockets as he watches me with rapt attention. I’m the logical one. This reaction, this isn’t me. My claws punch out and I heave a pained breath.

Riordan always gets everything, leaving us with nothing but scraps. Like the scales hadn’t already been tipped in his favor since the moment he was born. Now this. I’m the second son and that makes me nobody in Avallen. I’ve long since learned to labor, fight and con to have my way. This was supposed to be my chance to take the throne. I can’t let Riordan take this from me too. Her.

“He doesn’t, and even if he did, it means nothing. Females belong in harems, not on thrones. He’d be stupid to acknowledge her as his now, with the current state of court. She’d be dead in a matter of hours.”

I shake my head and laugh bitterly. “This is all Riordan needs to get Scarlett on his side. This child will bring them closer. Human females are sentimental that way. Fuck.”

Mael grunts as he pushes off the wall and heads to the door. “I still don’t understand why you four can’t share. It’s not unheard of for brothers to share one mate. Or the throne. In perfect, peaceful harmony.”

The bond between myself and my brothers is tenuous at best. We are anything but united, torn apart at first by the poisonous whispers of those who raised us, and now by individual desires. To suggest that we share not only the throne but one woman is to ignore the very chasm of enmity that divides us.

Riordan wants power because he truly believes he can make our world a better place—the poetic fool. Cillian…no one ever knows with him, but my wildest guess would be to spite Riordan. Tiarnan wants the throne to prove that he’s capable and not the spoiled, untried prince the kingdom believes him to be.

For me, power is a necessity. It is as important to me as my identity. Unlike the other three with noble blood, I was born to a slave who was raped by my father and tossed into his harem without a single thought. Every day of my life I have been reminded of that little fact. Scorned. Laughed at. Rejected. And when I could take it no longer, I fought tooth and nail to get the stain off my name. To make a place for myself amongst the powerful, the elite. To earn my title as prince.

But one can never really run from the truth. The throne is my redemption and the one thing I won’t let Riordan have.

Mael pauses by the door, tilting his dark head so that his vampire-red eyes meet mine. “Lest I forget, since I’m well past my retirement age. I discovered who gave the order to kill Kingsley Montogomery.”

My ears perk up at that and my gaze refocuses on him. “Who?”

“Vladimir.”

I blink, the anger building in me halting. In the long line of lords who once had claims to the throne while the power still remained with the other races, Vladimir is by far the oldest. A vampire lord known especially for his cruel sense of humor and a reputation for being a rather ruthless killer.

He would have been king, but for the Goddess’s intervention and the power shifting to the lycans. He’s held a grudge for many years, and I should have known he’d make a move, but he’s been f*****g docile for so long, it was easy to forget just how many players exist in this dangerous game.

Things just got messier and Scarlett is in a hell lot of danger.