Page 9 of Knot your Princess
Sugar
Dropping my forehead to my drawn-up knees, I groan. “Shite on a stick.”
I really don’t like how that conversation went. Why couldn’t he have just left me alone as I asked him to? Conversing with him makes me flustered, and I panic because I’ve decided that I like sniping at him for some inexplicable reason. I don’t like the come back, though, so call me a hypocrite. The thought of him shagging some willing female now makes my skin crawl. I don’t want him, but I see what’s happening here. I don’t want anyone else to want him, either. I have a territorial stake on him, but only to yell at him, and, perversely, have him order me about like a child. Why do I like that all of a sudden?
“Sophia.”
I turn toward Nico and look up at him. “Time to go in,” he adds.
Sighing, I stand up. “Already?” I grumble, but it’s rhetorical. He wouldn’t be here if there was still time left.
“Your father wants you.”
Frowning up at him, taking in his manly scent, and trying not to gaze into those dark eyes, I ask, “Why?”
My stomach churns. Did he just see Cain and me? Am I in trouble? Is he? I didn’t do anything wrong. I was trying to get rid of him because I know how these things end.
He shrugs and looks out over the lake pensively.
Something is definitely wrong. Nico is usually taciturn and fierce except when he’s fucking me. Then he goes all passionate and growly. But his face is drawn and almost ill-looking.
I chew the inside of my lip. “Everything okay?”
“Hmm?” He turns to face me. “Of course. Inside, Sophia. Your father is waiting.”
With nothing left to say, I walk back to the house, with him following my every move, aiming for the kitchen where the back door leads out into the grounds.
I hesitate for only a second when I see my dad looming in the doorway. He takes up the whole thing, and now I know shit is about to hit the fan.
I approach with caution.
“Sugar,” he rumbles. “Go and change into something decent and meet me in the living room.”
He turns and leaves without anything else.
“Wait. Why?” If he wants me already in my coffin clothes when he kills me for conversing with Cain, then I want to know now so I can prepare accordingly.
He pauses and looks back with a growl. “Just do it.”
He walks away, leaving me reeling. What is going on?
However much I want to know, I don’t linger. I scamper into the house and to my bedroom, pulling out a pretty pink, ankle-length dress that floats around me and has a modest neckline and thin straps. As far as coffin clothes go, I can live with this. Or be dead with this, rather.
I run a brush through my hair and, barefoot, make my way to the living room. Shoes on corpses freak me out. No, barefoot all the way.
The scent hits me before I enter the room. It’s…unpleasant. It reminds me of lemon. But not the smell of an actual lemon, rather the scent of a lemon-scented detergent. It’s sharp and makes my nose pinch in response.
Slowly, I walk into the living room, wondering which alpha this not nice scent belongs to. I stop when I see a complete stranger talking to my dad, laughing and joking like they’re old friends.
“Ah, Sophia,” Dad says jovially, a world away from his attitude not ten minutes ago. “Come in and meet Matt Dayes.”
Taking in the average looking alpha, probably around forty years old, I dislike what I see so far. He is short, probably not much taller than me. He has sandy blonde hair and brown eyes, which is fine if you like that sort of thing. It’s not for me. I like tall men with dark hair.
“Sophia,” he says, aiming an interested gaze in my direction. “Your father has been telling me a lot about you.”
I want to askwhybut that seems a bit redundant. It’s obvious what’s going on here. Mother’s words are ringing in my ears.Soon you will be free to fly.
Dad is setting me up with my future mate.
