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Garrik’s lips parted with a slow breath. The side of his mouth curved up into a playful grin. “If you want me, darling.” Garrik placed a hand beside her head. The cold of the blade lifted her chin to meet his eyes. “All you need to do is ask.”

Her heart jumped at the thought. And from the bloodthirsty desire that crossed his silver eyes, he knew exactly what her mind was warring with.

It had been too long since anyone had looked at her that way.

Why did staring into the face of death and darkness cause a sudden, unrecognizable shock to ripple inside her? She’d never feltthatwith Kaine. Not with anyone. Almost as if his shadows chilled her veins yet set a fire burning from every nerve. Like the two mixed together was a new kind of magic.

She quivered from it, unsure if she should break free from the blade and pull a dagger from his belt or if she wanted to indulge in theLord of Darknessand pull him near.

The Lord of Darkness?his voice groaned, musical and breathy and far too dangerous, infiltrating her in teasing waves.Be careful howyouthink, clever girl.You might lure a starving beast. Every female needs her own villain, and I promise you, you donotwant me as yours.

She swallowed, lungs stretching to breathe in his threat. Managing the thought, just as breathy as his,Stay out of my head. Only, it didn't sound as demanding as she hoped it would be.

Garrik grinned. Flashing sharp canines that she wanted to be devoured by. The very predator she wanted to be at the mercy of.

Alora bit sharply on her bottom lip as her desire stirred.

Garrik tracked the movement with predatory, lethal focus.

To be wanted. Even a little …

Even if by him …

Fueled by the sound of her sudden breath, Garrik pressed his own neck against the blade, cutting into his icy skin until streams of crimson pooled with hers.

For a moment, the hardened face of a killer softened, as if he forgot for only a moment who he was. Cold breath whispered, “Forgive me.”

She had no time to protest. Admittedly, not that she even would have.

The High Prince’s lips brushed against hers, claiming them as his. Alora fell lost to the taste of him, the bite of warm vanilla and oak that coated his lips.

Garrik’s ringed hand cupped her cheek, its size large enough that it rested under her jaw, against her trembling neck. Strong fingers weaved through the hair on the back of her head, gripping—pulling—her to him with desperation. His lips moved, molded against hers like they were sculpted for one another.

The kiss was deep—intoxicating—almost painful in its longing. Like it would be the very last kiss either of them would have. That they would have all the time in the world to enjoy it and hate it after.

Iron twisted between their necks and fell. Fell with an unnoticeable clang against the forest floor. His icy hand found her other cheek and cupped it, too, pulling her even closer as his kisses’ intensity built. There was perfection in his lips, and they demanded her every breath, to which she drunkenly gave.

That must be what the stars themselves felt like in all their glowing magnificence. When mates say they flew on top of the clouds or could get high off just one touch, even a mere thought.

A touch exactly in comparison to his.

If Kaine would have ever even kissed her with even an inkling of what this felt like…

His mouth pulled away, shuddering a breath as if to speak.

But Alora’s hand, against her better judgment and control, extended and brushed against the rigid scars on his abdomen. Her body ached for his to push against hers. Ice and fire could never survive together, but the way his chill felt against her burning skin, against her lips, made her realize that she could very much enjoy this type of attention once again.

The press of his hips pinned her to the tree, and she felt him hard as steel against her. That hand on her cheek traced down her jawline, brushing the flesh of her neck and over the curves of her body until he found her thigh.

Garrik groaned against her lips. His hand squeezed there, hungrily pulling her leg to wrap around him as his body trembled with a quick press of his hips.

Alora was a tinder box fit to burst. She curled her fingers in the intensity, nails digging into the scars of his abdomen, edging on the verge of insanity from his kiss, his hips, his touch.

Garrik’s body shuddered, falling utterly rigid, and tore away without a word. He stumbled back onto his heel. Dropped her leg from around him. Silver eyes so wide–so primal–the whites even glowed, yielded his alarmed expression.

Releasing her face, black boots then twisted and paced to the side of the tree. With a flex of both hands at his thighs, he lifted the tunic from where he had dropped it.

The High Prince, Lord of Darkness, returned on a smokeless wind.