Page 58 of Tricky Princess
Ros looked down at her, and she smiled wickedly at him.
“I’ve always wondered what you were hiding from me,” she said softly, caressing his neck. His skin was hot under her hand, more than his usual heat.
“I’ve got it under control,” he said through clenched teeth.
“What if I don’t want you to have it under control?” He glowered at her, and she reached up to tug the hair at the nape of his neck. “How you bit me last night, I wanted more. I’m not fragile, and I won’t shy away from what you are. We’re in Hel, for fuck’s sake. I’m in Hel with you, and I’m not going anywhere.”
He said nothing, but he didn’t need to. She would be patient and let him decide when he was ready. She slowly released him, tracing his jaw with her fingers. He kissed her on the forehead and led her to a waiting Florence.
22
Rosier
Ellea could say she wanted him to lose control, but she didn’t know what she was actually asking for. She and Florence bickered the entire way to Devon and Sam’s room. They would check in and then go clean up. Ros still needed to have a talk with her about everything that had happened while she was gone. Then, as soon as Sam was healed, they would make their way back home, regardless of what she said the night before.
How could she want to stay here for another day? This place was horrible; she deserved to be free, topside, away from all the beasts and monsters.
But she’s thriving here.
Ros shook his head at the meddlesome thought. Of course, she was thriving here—she would thrive anywhere. She was Ellea, and she was brilliant. That didn’t mean she should be here.
Florence said her goodbyes as Ros and Ellea stood outside of two black doors that led to Devon and Sam’s suite. He went to say something as they looked at each other but the opening doors cut him off.
“Thank the Gods,” Devon said. “He’s out of control. He tried leaving.”
“You can’t lock me in this room forever. I want to see…” Sam said. His words trailed off right before something thudded to the ground.
He had fallen out of bed. Ellea ran to him.
“What are you doing?” she scolded and helped him stand. “You should be resting.”
“I was worried about you.” He groaned, getting back into bed. “I was pretty delirious yesterday; I thought I imagined you. Did you give me a sponge bath? Please tell me it was you or Billy. Gods, did you see her?”
He kept speeding through question after question, and Ellea shook her head. She glanced back at him lingering in the doorway with Devon. He couldn’t step into the room.
The healer had said there would be scarring, but he didn’t believe it. After everything they had been through—wars, hunting, dumb fights—not one thing had left a mark on him. His wolven blood wouldn’t allow it. But now, Ros’ chest heaved as he took in the jagged pink line that ran from the side of his head, across his temple, and barely missed the corner of his eye. A straighter line covered the bridge of his nose. His wolven blood may heal quickly, but that also meant it scarred quickly.
Fucking demons.
“Hey,” Devon said with mock hurt as Sam began rambling about Ellea’s dress and how good she looked.
“Oh, hush. I’m injured, let me be.” He shooed him away, scooping Ellea up to lie with him in bed. He folded his hands under his chin and said, “Tell me everything.”
Devon nudged him lightly, and Ros shook his head.
Sam’s fine; it’s only a scar.
Ellea’s fine.
Everyone survived.
He plastered a smile on his face. “Tell him how you stole a horse and sent two guards to the healers.”
Sam oohed, his face bright against the darkness of Ros’ feelings.
“Not about my time gambling with the kitchen demons?” Ellea asked with a raised brow. Ros felt his face pale.
“I’m going to kill Duhne,” he grumbled.
