Page 3 of The Princess and the Pack

Finally, a predator hovers over me, his weakened prey. The unmistakable hunger in his gaze reflects the brazen sentiments he spoke just a moment ago. I cannot, and do not, attempt to suppress my shudder at the licentious glee overtaking his handsome features.

“What. Do. We. Have. Here?” He punctuates each word purposefully, bending down to meet me at eye level.

Until now, I’ve dared not move, afraid my legs will again fail me. But I can’t deny my body’s insistent tug toward him. Like a moth called to flame, I will myself to come to a kneeling position before him.

Oran rewards my effort with a whisper of his fingertips across my face, touching where I fell victim to the sturdiness of Cillian’s desk. Goosebumps rise across my skin in a sweeping wave of lust and longing, begging for him to fulfill his filthy promises.

Oran tsks mockingly as he cups my chin and gently turns my face to better inspect my now throbbing temple. “Can’t have you hurting yourself so carelessly, love. Not when the night is just getting interesting.”

With his shockingly casual address, he throws all pretense of title and hierarchy out the window. If I were a stronger woman, I would fight the whimper begging to push past my quivering lips. I would simply ignore the way he has me desperate for more than just his hand on my face. But I’m dizzy, aching—needy—and this alpha looks at me as though I’m the goddess Cillian spoke of.

At the pitiful sound, Lord Rafferty’s eyes seem to widen, his nostrils flaring nearly imperceptibly. If I didn’t know better, I might think he was attempting to scent me. But such a thing wouldn’t be possible. Only my scent-matched alpha could ever perceive my true omega perfume.

Not that I’m perfuming for Oran.Definitely not.

The alpha before me shakes his head, seeming to banish a similar thought, and grasps my chin tighter.

“Care to explain yourself, then, Princess? How long have you been snooping about?” Oran teases.

I should speak. I should tell him he’s the one who needs to explain himself. After he and Cillian ignored me for weeks, neither has the right to say such outlandish, salacious things about me.

I should scold him for speaking to me like I’m some omega he can bed, rather than the future queen of his country. But each time I open my mouth, I’m mesmerized by the endless sea of green in his eyes.

Lord Oran Rafferty is a sight to behold, with his broad shoulders and sharp features. He has the plushest lips I’ve seen, and the overwhelming desire to feel them against all my most intimate parts has a blush rising hot in my cheeks.

I can’t feel such things for an alpha who isn’t my betrothed. It doesn’t matter that he is of high birth. Ican’thave him.

We shouldn’t dare to open a door we could never enter. It would be irresponsible, albeit tempting. No manner of sensual delights would ever make the union of our bodies acceptable by any societal standards. Allowing myself to believe otherwise, even briefly, will only bring me hurt later.

Steeling my resolve to act the part of the proper princess at least once this evening, I shake my head to dispel all inappropriate thoughts of the emerald-eyed alpha before me.

“N-no. I was just—I mean, I didn’t. I-I heard nothing,” I lie, tripping over my tongue to absolve us of their sinful ramblings.

If I can convince him I don’t know his true intentions toward me—ones we couldneveract on—perhaps we can go on as we ought to: platonically and with mutual respect for each other.

Oran frowns, clearly unimpressed with my terrible attempt at lying. He releases my chin and takes hold of my hand before pulling us both to stand.

“No?” he asks with a quick quirk of his lips. “Shame, that.”

Giving my hand a squeeze, he releases me and motions toward a wide-eyed Cillian, who regards my presence with both shock and dismay.

“You—gods damn it, Ivy. What are you doing out of bed?” he growls.

Fire burns hot in the depths of his ice-blue irises. But his mock anger does little to mask the dark ownership laced in his tone. I don’t fight the shiver settling over me as his unspoken claim caresses each inch of my bare skin.

He takes in my shameful lack of appropriate attire with hungry eyes and a rigid set to his jaw, and I notice how his gaze dips to my breasts. There he lingers for only a breath before turning away with a scowl. It’s as if he can’t decide whether he should admire my form or curse himself for being tempted by impropriety.

Grinning like the cat who got the cream, I realize I enjoy this side of Cillian—this hidden possessiveness he has for me. I revel in the idea that I’ve tortured him with my presence alone.

Though I don’t understand the choice to keep his distance all this time, the ruffled parts of my ego are gently smoothed over by the obvious desire in his eyes. I’m settled in the knowledge of our shared attraction. Love has grown from less, and I can now see a path toward building a future together.

Given Cillian’s panting breaths and the way his fists clench at his sides, I can only assume this alpha is so very near the limits of his control. Pushing him over the edge is a tempting notion here in this private room with no one to disturb us. Just how exactly would the prince respond if I finally pressed my body against his, as I’ve so longed to do?

Before I can test the strength of his resolve, Oran steps forward, shielding me from his prince’s impending unraveling. Something akin to pride sparks within my chest at this alpha’s readiness to protect me from being devoured by his companion. Such valiance surely requires a reward.

Perhaps I should press myself against his back, rub his scent upon my skin, and show him how desperate I am to wear it like a brand.

Though only scent-matched mates can fully perceive each other’s distinct aromas, I know in my bones that Oran’s unique alpha signature is as intense and consuming as the hue of his fiery locks. If only I were twenty-one—with all my omega senses developed—I could test my theory.

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