The Queen's Conquer

Chapter 30 : Lukalla's Secrets

Galad • [gull-ad]
Light.

🖤

~+~

I throw my set of house keys into the decorative glass bowl once I return home for the evening, releasing a heavy sigh. Sterling offered to give me a ride tonight to allow my mate a break from the incessant trips to and from the packhouse. Though the drive was quiet, the strained atmosphere was still present—like every feeling and trauma from when we had last visited Lukalla was still trapped within us.

Sterling and I haven't had the time to sit down and discuss the effects the aftermath of the incident put on our well beings, but it's almost as though there's no need to talk about such things. Or it's just that we're fearful of bringing up the memories again. I know I am, at least. Some nights, my nightmares are of me reliving the feeling of Markus trapping me under his cold grip—or the sounds of Sterling screaming and fighting against those silver chains.

We pity each other and what we endured together. But there's still so much guilt and sorrow that remains between us, mostly because I know I'm to blame for everything that happened. And I don't want to inflict more damage on the harm that's already been dealt by forcing Sterling to go back to Lukalla.

I try my hardest to push down the ghastly memories as a waft of spices and foods encases my senses. My stomach instinctively growls in response as I drop my belongings next to the stairs in the foyer.

Already knowing who's responsible for the aroma of freshly steamed vegetables and smokey steak scents filling the house, I'm lured towards the kitchen to discover Samuel preparing a late dinner. His back is to me as he mixes something around in the skillet over the stovetop. But all it takes is my scent—and that very obvious sound of the front door closing from only a few moments ago—for him to turn and find me.

My mate smiles as I come closer to see what's sparked his inner-chef tonight. "Whatever you're making, it smells amazing," I say, remembering what he'd said about his mother teaching him such skills.

Ever since last weekend, I can't look at him while he cooks and not imagine his mother explaining how to correctly season his foods or cut his produce. Though I've never seen a picture of her, I feel like her genetics would've been responsible for a lot of his features—the features I love about him.

Samuel finishes another stir of the sauteing vegetables before wrapping an arm around my shoulders and squeezing my sweaty body against his clean one, kissing my forehead gently. "Why don't you go and get cleaned up before dinner?"

I chuckle softly. "You think I smell?"

His grin widens, this time wrapping both arms around my waist and wedging me between him and the island, leaving the sizzling food unoccupied. "I don't care whether you smell or not, Anastasia. I'm telling you to go take a shower for your own sanity. Unless you want me to join you, of course."

My cheeks redden at his suggestive tone that forms those last few words, but I gain the courage to bring a hand to the back of his neck, pulling him down to place a gentle kiss against his lips. "You've got food on the stove," I murmur into his mouth, pressing our foreheads together. "And even though I'd love your company, I think I'll be alright."

"Was worth a try," he says, smirking childishly.

I manage to pull myself out of his hold before throwing an enticing look over my shoulder while walking out of the kitchen—which Samuel somehow catches as his eyes drag over my body hungrily.

But he waits until I've returned to the foyer, already halfway up the stairs, to call out, "I'm fucking you on the island later."

Even in the dim, cool lighting, my face burns with heat, laughing to myself at how abrupt his words are. But, with that, I quicken my pace up the steps and hastily jump into a very, very cold shower in hopes of relieving any lustful feelings to get me through dinner.