I didn’t need to answer that, and so I didn’t.

My wolf rubbed his upper lip. “How many times, Aster?”

Confused, I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“How many fucking times?”

Oh.

Oh.

To lie would be futile because he would see right through it. I didn’t want to lie, but I didn’t want to speak of it either. I wanted him to join me in bed, to feast upon me before we feasted on a meal, either here or in this beautiful, war-touched city.

It seemed some things might remain but a dream—a desperate memory—for Scythe’s expression hardened. His jaw flexed. “Tell me how many times he fucked you, Aster.”

“Once.” I exhaled the word, then I winced as I recalled that one particular time. “Not long after I returned, though it didn’t really get that far. We tried, but we didn’t…” I cleared my throat. “He didn’t get to…”

“He didn’t stick his cock inside you,” he stated with dangerous calm.

“No,” I said, his foot stilling and the weight of his assessing gaze so heavy that I wanted to look away. I didn’t, knowing that whatever it was he was doing, whatever he was seeking, it was necessary.

He needed to know, and I wanted to give him whatever he needed. But regardless of how he’d bound me to him by forcing me to accept the mating bond, I would only give him what I could. There was still only so much I could reveal without endangering us and causing a ripple effect that might spread too far.

“He still touched you,” he surmised, voice graveled. “Put his hands and his mouth on you.”

“He’s my husband, Scythe. I didn’t think I would return to Vordane, and we had to try to fix it…” I shook my head. “In the end, we never did try very hard. I gave up long ago.” I released a tremulous breath. “I think we both gave up long ago.”

“Because he fucked someone else.”

I nodded, tracing a loose thread in the blanket. “Multiple times.” I hesitated, tempted to say more, then decided it was best to leave it at that.

Scythe said nothing else for torturous minutes.

I knew he was waiting to see what else I would divulge, and like an addicted fool with the need to please my obsession, I whispered, “I couldn’t…” A knot of anxiety formed at just the thought of returning, at remembering it was far from over. I would have to face him again. “I’m beginning to loathe him, wolf.”

“Yet you stayed,” he said, a quiet fury lacing the gentle words.

I closed my eyes. “I had no choice.” I will continue to have no choice, I didn’t say, though the temptation to berate him for what he’d done to us both laid hot and thick over my tongue.