Page 51 of Crown Prince's Mate

But as I undo my bra, letting it fall to the ground, and lean over, awkwardly pulling off my underwear, they’re no longer so casual and unaffected. Their intense eyes trace over my body, and I don’t feel like the sexless Prime Minister, clad in the bland gray, shapeless uniform.

I feel like a woman, in a way I never have before.

I clear my throat, telling them Aurelians to get a hold of themselves, but Doman has the audacity to smirk, letting his eyes trail up my curves, completely unashamed to be enjoying every inch of me, his eyes strolling over my breasts and up, until he meets my eyes. There’s heat in his gaze, and his cock is stiffening, growing thicker and heavier.

I cross my arms. “Shall we get to it?”

His head shakes minutely, focusing again, clad in nothing but the golden crown that rests on his head. Then, as one, the three of them remove their royal crowns, placing them on the piles of their clothes.

“Of course,” growls Doman. His voice seems to have gotten deeper.

“As you were born,” comes the voice of the lead priestess, but her voice lacks the mysterious prophecy it had before, her composure marred by the flush in her cheeks. No one is immune to the raw masculinity of the three beasts.

Then I realize what she is saying, her gaze on Doman’s ring. The panic rises in me.

Doman was able to control himself. Barely. When we were in the throne room and he pulled off the ring, his cock surged up, his body tensed with the aching need, his being inflamed with ravenous lust.

That was when I was fully clothed.

Now I’m nude, and his battle-brothers will be ringless as well. Titus might have a roguish sense of humor I never would have expected, but there’s no humor in his hungry eyes as he drinks in my being. He’s well over seven feet of barbarian strength, the bullet wounds on his chest speaking to his intense will, able to power through anything to get what he wants.

The three of them will snap as one. One finger would be enough to press me down. All three of their savage rage pressed in on me…

Even the presence of the priestesses would not stop them.

Gallien’s got this hard look in his eyes that scares me. I’ve sensed a darkness in him. The other two are almost simple in their beastly, rage-fueled lust. Gallien has a sophisticated cruelty to him, and I don’t want to imagine the things he would do to me when the Mating Rage overwhelms him.

Or maybe I do.

The thought comes out of nowhere, and I take a step back from the three alien princes. Their cocks are swelling, the blood making them thicker, heavier.

“Show us how we’re going to breathe first,” growls Doman, his voice with a deep, raw edge as he fights down the Mating Rage. Even with those rings on their fingers, they want me, and there’s no Bond to blame for the way they ache for me.

“Very well,” says the leader of the priestesses. The three women turn, their robes swishing, and bring their hands up to the transparent wall of the air-shield.

In a slow, practiced movement, they trace a circle with their hands against the invisible barrier. It thickens under their touch, and they grab the edges, pulling out three rings of the same translucent material that forms their beautiful architecture. The air seems strange above the rings, wavering and distorting.

The Aurelians bow their heads, and the priestesses slide the rings over their heads, pressing them down against their shoulders, and I get a pang of insane, ridiculous jealousy that they are touching them. It’s ridiculous—the priestesses could be my grandmothers—and I’ve never been possessive.

I breath out a small sigh of relief as the priestesses mold air-shield spheres from the rings, like the helmets of astronauts from so long ago who braved the cosmos in the first space walks. It’s a necessary separation.

They will not taste my scent and go wild. The head priest makes another circle in the wall and offers it to me. I only haveto duck my head slightly for her to place it against my shoulders, and with a practiced movement, she forms the shimmering dome around my head. It feels strange and cool against my skin, and the air is thick and humid, even compared to the moisture of their dome cities.

The Aurelian triad removes their blue-black rings, placing them on their white robes. Then the priestesses step aside, and we look out towards the black ocean separating us from the underwater caverns of the krakens. I remind myself that the krakens are silent protectors, and they’ve never hurt a human.

Unless any violence was covered up by the Etherions. There are many secrets under the sea.

Doman strides forward without hesitation, pressing his arms through the air shield and jumping forward, slicing into the waters. His body is pure art, cutting forward, his muscles taut as he swims. Titus follows him, pressing his head through first and testing the air in the shield, and when he’s satisfied, his legs flex as he jumps into the ocean.

Gallien reaches out. I take his hand, and he pulls me behind him as he presses gracefully through the barrier, his legs kicking as he pulls me through the waters. The water is cold against my naked skin. I know how to swim, but I swallow my pride, because these three are like Olympians.

No. They’re like the gods the original Olympians prayed to.

The Aurelians surge forward, their streamlined forms cutting through the endless black waters. Deep below, the pressure of the ocean presses against us, but the air-shields let us breathe easily. There are no currents, no flows, just heavy waters that the aliens press onwards through, Gallien kicking with strong, heavy strokes as he pulls me behind him. I feel like my own butterfly kicks are performative.

The canyon wall before us extends upwards, a wall of rock that touches the floating crust of mineral and rocks that masksEtherion’s cities below. The huge, pitch-black maw of the cave is wide as the bay of the warship’s hangar.

We swim in blackness. My body feels weightless, and darkness presses out in all directions, but far above, there is a glimmer of greenish blue light, faint yet appearing brilliant in contrast to the endless depths of ink-black that stretches around us.

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