Page 8 of Prisoner of the Lycan Prince

“If you’re not back downstairs within five minutes, I’ll come fetch you. That would be a bad way to begin our arrangement, Miss Ward.” His smile returned. “So I suggest you hurry.”

Chapter

Three

HARPER

For the second time in under an hour, I sat in the back of a car while rain streaked the window. This time, however, I wasn’t alone.

Einar sat across from me in a full manspread, his big, obnoxious body taking up the entire bench seat. Just my luck, the seat faced mine, and a thick pane of privacy glass sealed us in the cabin.

He didn’t appear the least bit concerned as he stretched an arm along the back of his seat, making his button-down mold to his thick chest. He seemed even bigger in the car. At five-seven, I was taller than average for a woman. But he had at least eight inches on me. Maybe more. Unlike Arlo, who’d slid into the driver’s seat the second we stepped outside, Einar filled out every single one of those inches with solid muscle.

Fortunately, there was enough distance between us to ensure his knees didn’t brush mine. I’d been poor for a while, but I grew up with money, and I knew the Mercedes-Maybach didn’t come cheap. A man with a personal assistant, a half-million-dollar car, and the nerve to kidnap women by way of contract probably didn’t get told “no” very often. But if I was going to survive this, I needed to set some ground rules. Like now.

“You can’t keep me prisoner,” I said.

One dirty blond eyebrow went up. Einar removed his arm from the back of the seat. I tensed, but he merely reached into his front pocket, withdrew a metal flask, and unscrewed it. Outside, the scenery whipped by more quickly as we merged onto the highway. Einar tipped the flask back, his golden throat working as he took a generous pull. He lowered it with a breathy, irritating “ahh” before spinning the cap back on and tucking the flask in his pocket. When he finished, he slung his arm along the seat again and looked out the window.

Great. I’d been kidnapped by an asshole billionaire who was also a drunk. And…huge.

I gnawed at my bottom lip. He’d said he wouldn’t hurt me. In fact, he’d sounded offended at the mere suggestion. So that meant he had no intention of me sharing his bed. Right?

Nerves prickled down my spine. My backpack rested at my feet. Moving it wouldn’t help anything. But what if I didn’t move it? My heart rate picked up.

On the other hand, moving it wouldn’t hurt anything.

Glancing down, I used my foot to nudge the logo facing outward. Einar still gazed out the window. “Did you hear what I said?” I asked.

He looked at me, his eyes the same color as the rain-drenched sky outside. “Remind me.”

I clenched my fists in my lap. “I said you can’t keep me prisoner.”

“It appears I’m doing just that.” He nodded toward the door. “Unless you think you can survive a tumble from a car going seventy miles per hour. Besides, I have a signed contract.”

“Illegal clauses in contracts are unenforceable.”

He lifted his hand from the back of the seat. “The clause isn’t illegal in my world, Miss Ward.”

My stomach did a weird flip. Something about the way he said my name made me want to squirm in my seat. Which was almost as ridiculous as him thinking a signed contract gave him the right to abduct me. Against my will, I focused on his hand—the hand that had looked like a very convincing animal paw. But that was impossible. I drew a deep breath. This guy was obviously a jerk. But he had to possess at least a modicum of humanity, didn’t he? Few people were completely unredeemable.

“My father has done some terrible things,” I said. “He lied about people for his own gain. I make no excuses for him. But he took my mother’s death hard. I don’t want to speculate about his mental state, but he’s obviously experiencing some kind of mental break. Whatever he did to you, it’s not right for you to play into this idea that he captured you transforming into a werewolf.”

“I didn’t transform into a werewolf.”

Thank god. If Einar was going to be rational, we could?—

“I transformed into a lycan. The differences between werewolves and lycans couldn’t be more glaring, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t slander me that way again.”

Frustration rose. How long was he going to keep this up? Maybe he was one of those bored rich men who played elaborate role-playing games.

If so, maybe there was a story there. Who better to cover it than a reporter embedded, albeit reluctantly, in his life? If I could get him talking, maybe I could forge a connection with him. Make him see me as a person instead of a bargaining chip. Someone he could commiserate with. Like Clarice in Silence of the Lambs.

Okay, maybe that was a bad example.

I forced my shoulders to relax. “What are the differences?”

Einar studied me, intelligence burning in his eyes. Whatever else he was, he wasn’t stupid. He’d also clearly done his homework on my father, which meant he’d almost certainly dug into my background, too. He had to know I was months away from a journalism degree.

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