Greymoor Academy: I Accidentally Bonded With Four Lycan Royals!

Maisie

The entire Court seemed to inhale at once.

Without a word, he shoved my shift up my thighs with rough, impatient hands, baring me to the cool air and hundreds of watching eyes.

I gasped, trying to close my legs on instinct, but he gripped my thighs hard and spread them wider, positioning himself between them.

"Mercer—" I breathed.

He ignored me. His pitch-black eyes locked onto my exposed core with feral need as he pushed the fabric higher, nearly to my hips.

I tried to flee from his hold but there was no escaping him.

His movements were too swift to follow, and I’d just barely felt the sting of the dagger before he leaned in and sank his teeth into the soft, sensitive flesh of my inner thigh, dangerously, obscenely close to my center. The bite was deep, possessive, almost punishing.

I couldn’t stop the moan that exploded out of me.

His tongue lapped at the blood and I felt his breath against my clit. My skin tingled and my nipples strained against the shift. He was doing nothing else but pulling blood from me, but it was the filthiest thing I’d ever done with a man.

Being claimed in the most intimate place possible, right in front of everyone, was not on my bingo card for this year, and yet...

My hips jerked against his mouth involuntarily, needing his mouth four inches higher, two miserable inches to the right. I wanted to ride his face on this altar and I didn’t care that we were in front of thousands.

Goddess, I was going to hell.

But he didn’t move. He held me in place, his mouth sending jolts of raw lust to my insides, and I felt wetter and slicker, and with horror I realized I was dripping down my thigh.

Mercer pulled back and I flushed with shame, averting my gaze from his as he finally flashed me a nasty smile. His deep voice popped into my head and I fought the urge to hit him as he drawled, "I’ll know if you let anyone near my pussy, Adams."

Oh god, I was going to die from this, wasn’t I?

I didn’t know what to expect from Jericho. He had never been easy to read.

He lowered his head when I needed him to and arched his neck for me in an almost methodical manner, like he couldn’t have cared less about the details.

It shouldn’t have annoyed me, but it did. If you were going to create a bloodbath just to marry me, the least you could do was not be nonchalant about it.

I touched him with the same nonchalance, cut him, pressed my lips to his skin.

The only reaction I got out of him was a startled jerk, and then, he stilled and let me finish.

I hated that I was more flustered than he was. That his blood didn’t run as cold as his hardened exterior.

His fingers brushed mine as he took the dagger and his movements were surgical as he created the incision on the other side of my neck.

And then, his left hand clamped on my waist, tugging me into him. He leaned down, lowering his forehead to mine, and he murmured roughly against my lips, voice husky and heavily accented in that Russian accent that rarely ever slipped out, "Where I come from, we kiss the brides first."

He tunneled a hand through my hair, cradling the back of my head, angling me for a deep kiss, and my lips parted eagerly.

He took the invitation, sliding his tongue along mine with expert, teasing strokes that had me clutching at his chest, fisting the material of his shirt to pull him closer as desire danced up and down my spine.

He tasted like everything I wasn’t supposed to want and yet couldn’t help needing, and I didn’t know what madness possessed me to climb the man like a damned tree.

I kissed him hard, sucked on his lower lip and scraping my teeth over him.

"Malyshka," he groaned, and the name on his lips made me ravenous.

His hips rocked into mine, and I gasped at the delicious friction. He broke the kiss, sliding his mouth across my jaw, my neck, and I—

Fangs broke my skin and sharp pleasure tore through my body. And then, it was over too fast, too soon, not nearly enough. My skin was scorching hot as he set me down back on my wobbling feet.

I was gasping, dizzy, shamelessly aroused.

Quinlan’s was... different.

He took my hand like we were at a ballroom dance. He lifted it to his lips and kissed my knuckles one by one, slow and reverent, eyes never leaving mine. Then he turned my wrist over, thumb caressing the delicate inner skin and the racing pulse beneath.

His mouth descended.

Goddess help me.

It was the gentle suction, the faintest scrape of teeth. He sucked on my pulse point until I felt it everywhere—between my legs, in my nipples, deep in my belly, along every mark that had been placed on my tonight.

I had no idea a wrist could be an erogenous zone.

Wet heat pooled from his mouth as he lavished it with attention, like he had all the time in the world to worship me. My thighs clenched.

Quinlan finally lifted his head, eyes crinkling with dark amusement as he pressed one last lingering kiss to my wrist.

"I would’ve been gentle," he said into my mind. "Only the first time."

When Quinlan dropped my wrist, I felt a surge of power pour into my chest, four distinct presences locking around my soul at once, and I double over. I could feel them. All of them. Their emotions—too many to process at once—want, annoyance, jealousy, satisfaction, amusement, despair, fear, there was so much off it, screaming down the bond at once, and I cried out, clamping my hands over my ears.

And then, it was all gone, four walls slamming down in my mind, cutting me off from accessing their thoughts and I raised my head in time to hear the priestess say, "By blood and ancient rite, you are bonded to each other till death and beyond."

She pulled a beautiful gold coroner from a ruby cushion and when she stood before me with it, I froze.

It was a crown.

My brain went blank for the next couple of seconds. She rose the crown above my head and settled it upon my head.

I thought I was going into shock.

The priestess bowed to me. "Princess."

I stumbled away from her, shivering as I turned to Soren with wide eyes. He did the next weird thing.

He dropped to a knee in front of me and lowered his head in deference. Mercer followed. As did Quinlan. And Jericho.

And the court followed suit. The students, followed, gazes wide-eyed and confused. Even Tessa, bristling terribly, lowered her head. Everyone except the Queen who leveled me with a stare that could have melted the Arctic.

The words ’my mates’ spoke next washed over my ears, like I was hearing them from a completely different body. They were vowing themselves, their lives, their loyalty to me.

To me.

The Lycans had gone mad and made me the next Queen.