Page 53 of The Night Prince

His expression darkens. “Aye.”

My muscles tighten. It’s about ownership. The flames burn in the fireplace, and the log crumbles to ash. I wonder if that’s all love is when stripped bare—people striving to own one another.

He swallows, as if he knows the direction of my thoughts. He takes my chin. “I’m a wolf, an alpha, and there are certain things I’m struggling with at the moment. I don’t want to feel this way. But my brother has marked you. Blake...”A muscle twitches in his jaw. “Blake has bound himself to you and claimed you as part of his clan. So, aye, I want you to be my wife. Mine.”

“Callum—”

“There is more to it than that, though. I want to be yours, too. I want to be your husband. Your equal. I want you by my side, challenging me, supporting me. I want a family with you, and to provide for you.” He takes my hand in his, and brushes his lips across my knuckles. “You don’t have to agree. You can marry me tomorrow—we can ride to Dawn’s Craig in the morning and ask the Priestess to do. Or we can marry in ten years. We don’t have to marry at all, if you don’t want it. I’ll still be here, at your side, striving to impress you until my soul sleeps withGhealachand the stars. Think on it, okay?”

My mouth is dry, and my eyes burn. I nod, and squeeze his hands. “I will think on it.”

He smiles, wide and open. Then he drags his teeth over his bottom lip. He cocks his head to one side, as if coming to a decision, and mischief ignites within his eyes. I’ve seen this look on him before. It means trouble. The corner of my lip quirks.

“What’s that look for?” I ask.

“Perhaps I could give you a taste of married life, to help you make your decision.” In a sudden movement, he grabs my thighs and pulls my knees over his shoulders. “Just a taste...”

I gasp as I’m dragged forward in the armchair. “Callum!”

He pulls my underwear aside. “What?”

“I thought you couldn’t be manipulated.” My voice is breathy and doesn’t sound like it belongs to me. “It seems you’re doing exactly what I want.”

Slowly, torturously, he drags his tongue along my entrance. My hands find his head and my fingers curl in his hair to pull him to me.

“Who saysI’mnot manipulatingyou?” His lips glisten in the firelight.

I tilt my head back as he feasts on me as if I’m his favorite meal. He sucks and strokes and laps as if he’s a rabid beast, and provokes sounds from me that I’ve never made before. I clamp my thighs around his head, and ride his face, rocking my hips until I’m nothing but liquid heat and the wind that howls through the mountains.

Somewhere, within the wild valleys and hurtling brooks that pass beneath me, I see his point. I would do anything he asked of me right now. If belonging to him means more of this, then I could give him everything I am.

Then all thoughts evade me and I’m only this feeling, this pleasure, as release crashes through me and I sink into never-ending bliss. I barely hear the voice somewhere deep within me, dark and primal and slightly annoyed.

Feral eyes. Amber.

A low growl.

You belong to no one.

***

I blink. I’m in my father’s palace, in the ballroom. I sit at one of the many tables that are dotted around the dancefloor, and I’m concealed behind one of the stone columns that support the domed ceiling. People dance in their finery on the checkered tiles, and the crescent moon shines through the sun-shaped window above my father’s throne. My brother Philip is by one of the tall arched windows, surrounded by adoring men and women alike. He throws back his head and laughs. His wine sloshes out of his cup.

Unease winds around my bones like a serpent. The notes of the string quartet are slightly off. The movement of the crowdis disjointed. The scent of liquor and sweat hangs heavy in the air. It’s suffocating.

A man sits beside me. He leans closer. Too close. He is packed with muscle, with black hair shaved close to his head. He’s drunk. Too drunk. His sour breath assaults my cheek, and as he slurs on about the glory he intends to bring to the kingdom, he puts his hand on my thigh. I stiffen. I know his history. I know the last time he visited the palace, one of my ladies-in-waiting was seen crying the next morning.

Touching me, on another night, would warrant his execution. Either drink, or the fact we are shrouded in shadow, has made him bold. My father wants me to talk to him, appease him. So, even though my skin crawls, I relax my posture, lean in for the jug, and refill his goblet with wine.

“You’re being too forward, Alexander.” My words are bold, but I force a coy smile onto my lips.

“I think you like it, love,” he slurs in his Borderlands accent. “You need someone forward. A bit wild. Not like these stiff southern bastards in their silk and finery.”

I nod at his black coat, embroidered with anchors and flowers. “You say that, yet your coat is one of the finest I’ve seen.”

“It would look even better on the floor of your bedchambers, with the rest of your clothes piled beside it.”

“Only my husband is supposed to speak to me that way.”

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