The Mad, Bad Duke (Nvengaria #2)(70)
Alexander craved her. He recalled how he’d made love to her before they’d readied themselves for the ball, how satisfying it had been to bury himself inside her. Not only in the technical sense, but surrendering to the joy of her. As inconvenient as the love spell was, it had given Alexander something he’d never experienced before—complete happiness in being with a woman.
Alexander had never, ever been able to lose himself in another, never been able to trust that the woman he was with in the night wouldn’t betray him in the morning. His affairs had been casual in the extreme, never lasting more than twenty-four hours.
The ladies preened themselves that the Grand Duke sought them out, and rather bragged about it. A few wrote books about their encounters with him that sold very well. Alexander always combed the manuscripts beforehand and expurgated anything dangerous, and no one dared stop him. His reputation as a lover had risen, the women gained prestige of a sort, and they were strangely grateful to him. Being singled out by the Grand Duke could make a lady’s career.
The moment Meagan Tavistock looked at Alexander had changed everything.
Which was why he’d asked Myn to help him. Alexander wanted to go to Meagan without hurting her, and he couldn’t trust himself not to. He needed control. He didn’t mind that he’d attacked von Hohenzahl and scared the piss out of the man, but he did not want to risk his lack of control with Meagan. He wanted her with such intensity that he feared his frenzy would trigger his change.
Myn gazed pointedly at Alexander’s suit before starting to remove his own clothes, unembarrassed.
Alexander toed off his boots, then unhooked the cords that held his coat closed. “Nikolai will never forgive me for hanging my clothes on a tree,” he said dryly.
Myn either did not comprehend this statement or did not care. Without a word, the logosh stripped off his breeches and shirt, tossed them into a pile, and walked away to be swallowed by shadows.
What would the London newspapers make of Grand Duke Alexander bare in the woods with one of his entourage? Alexander smiled a little as he undressed, imagining what joy they’d get from such a story. He’d simply have to make certain no one saw them.
Alexander hesitated a moment, his skin bare to the night, before following Myn. Walking barefoot in the woods in the dark was a risky practice, but somehow Alexander knew how to avoid the rocks and sharp twigs that littered the forest floor.
He could see, as well. The moonlight was faint, sailing in and out of thin clouds, but even when the silver orb obscured itself, Alexander’s heightened senses could make out the outline of every tree and leaf, the gleam of animal eyes in the shadows, and the bulk of Myn walking ahead of him.
They reached a small clearing that contained evidence of woodcutters, but Alexander knew the woodcutters had not been there for some time. He did not know how he knew—one had even left a broken axe handle behind—but he knew from the air that the scent of them was old.
“How am I doing these things?” he asked Myn.
“You are logosh,” Myn answered.
Alexander gave Myn a pained look. “Very clear. Thank you.”
He carefully laid his clothes in a dry spot, then put his hands on his hips and scanned the clearing, sensing the heartbeat and rapid breathing of every rabbit and mouse in the underbrush. Did animals feel like this? Did wolves know of each breath their prey took?
“How do I control the change?” he asked Myn. “I want to do it at will, not wake up wondering what the hell happened to me.”
Myn was staring across the clearing as though he too sensed the small lives in the underbrush. “You cannot control your logosh side. It controls you.”
Alexander scowled. “I have been controlling the logosh in me for thirty-two years. So well that I didn’t even know it was there. Even in the worst times of my life, it has not risen up to plague me. Not until now.”
“Because of the love spell.”
“You say the love spell triggered it.” Alexander flexed his arms, wanting to run for some reason, not in panic, but for the pure joy of it. To run, to hunt. “But I felt this change before that.”
Myn turned to look at him. “I meant that the love spell tore down the walls you had built between yourself and what you are. You did not control the logosh in you—you pushed it aside. Once the man you hated and feared most in your life was dead and Nvengaria was safe, the walls you built started to break. And then the love spell destroyed them completely.”
“That is the longest speech I have ever heard you make,” Alexander said, half amused. “But you are wrong, I did control it.”
“No.” Myn’s eyes grew still more blue. “The beast inside will kill you if you do not surrender to it. Logosh is what you are.”
“I am only half logosh.”
“Then it will be harder for you.”
Alexander balled his fists. “I do not want this to hurt Meagan. Do you understand that? I worry about hurting her most of all.”
“Then surrender to yourself,” Myn said.
The air around him shimmered and his form changed. Myn’s body became that of one of the hideously strong creatures who’d invaded the throne room the day Prince Damien and Penelope returned from Nvengaria. Those logosh had nearly killed Alexander, and Penelope herself had brought Alexander back from the dead.
The logosh had devoted themselves to Princess Penelope, following an old tale that told of a princess who had befriended a logosh and so won the devotion of his tribe. Alexander understood that devotion, because he shared it. He owed Penelope his life.