Page 7

R ogue Alpha Prince looks so hot right now—spread on the bed in only his wet black sweatpants—his abs ripped like the rest of his gorgeous body.

He slowly roams his eyes all over my naked figure, all confident and stubborn to win this little game of his. To make me want him so much that I would beg.

Yeah, right.

He doesn’t know yet how competitive I can be. He shouldn’t have called it a game if he wanted to win.

That doesn’t stop me from imagining ripping those wet pants off him, freeing his erection, climbing onto him, and taking him in…

I feel hot and bothered, but I hate him and this whole situation so much that it grounds me enough to not act on my sudden arousal.

I reach his hips and rip off his pants anyway. They are wet, after all, I tell myself. He must have lifted his bottom from the bed slightly because I managed to do that in one swift motion.

He doesn’t move again. He just looks at me and waits.

Good, let him wait, says my wolf counterpart, just as competitive as I am. We are one and the same, after all.

I throw his pants over the chair nearby to dry and go to the chest of drawers he originally took them from. I ignore his stare and fish out the only not black thing in that particular drawer. Soft grey shorts, perfect.

I throw them at him, aiming for his junk. But I don’t look to see if my aim was good. I open other drawers to find something for myself. My things are still packed in suitcases standing on the other side of the bedroom by a small wooden wardrobe, and I don’t want to mess everything up just to get one thing. I didn’t pack them; I have no idea where my underwear is.

I slide into one of his large black boxer briefs. They are a little bit loose at the front where I don’t have anything that the men should. But they hug my ass snugly enough for them to be comfortable. I am not that thin, so they stay on my hips. Content, I ignore the feeling of being stared at and take one of the few non-black t-shirts Rogue Prince owns, the white one, and put it on.

I return to his huge bed and see that he put his shorts on. He’s still lying down, but now he is resting his head on one arm and a pillow while he puts his other hand over his junk.

I ignore him and his smirk and get into the bed on the right side, sliding under the thick cover with the intent of going to sleep. I don’t ask about my own room or bed. I know I won’t get it. I know I have to work with what I have and not be difficult. No more than I already am, at least.

“You know I can smell your arousal, right?” he asks with amusement.

He is a werewolf with a heightened sense of smell, but I am freshly dressed and under a thick, warm cover, so no. No, he can’t.

“Goodnight, my lord,” I say with an already sleepy voice, closing my eyes and turning on my side with my back to him. With the last effort, I push my braids over the pillow, so I won’t lay on them.

It was a tough day. I am so tired—physically and mentally—I know I don’t need much to fall asleep, even with the enemy literally by my side.

My eyes snap open as soon as he gets under the covers with me. I can feel the heat of his body and it makes me restless.

Fucking mate bond. I close my eyes again and somehow fall asleep, without repeating affirmations of my now unachievable goals—for the first time in fifteen years .

Hot, I feel so hot.

I try to take the covers off me without rising because even with my eyes closed, I know it’s still dark outside, and I want to go back to sleep. I manage to push it to my legs, and it makes me realize the cover is not the only heavy thing on me. My eyes open wide.

I look down at the huge dark arm, tightly hugging my waist. I turn my head slightly to look over my shoulder. Rogue Alpha Prince has his face in the back of my nape, and he hugs me from behind, his warm body sticking to mine.

No wonder I’ve gotten so hot and sweaty.

He sleeps so peacefully and deeply that he doesn’t even stir when I grab his arm with my hand. I wonder how he can let himself be so defenseless, when there are so many werewolves who fear him so much, that they desperately want him dead.

Myself being number one on that list for years.

But when I lift his arm from me, I stop wondering. He’s not defenseless at all. He clutches a knife in his fist.

What the fuck?! He was holding me with this arm!

I stand up, panting and looking at him with disbelief. He could have cut me in his sleep! I didn’t even wake him with all my movements, so I don’t get how this knife would even help him when he is out so deep.

To be fair, he probably didn’t plan to hug me at all; he just did it in his sleep.

Either way… sleeping with a knife? With the other person in bed with you? Sick asshole!

“Stop staring at me,” he says, his eyes still closed but his senses apparently intact.

I huff with annoyance and start to look for some switch. There was a light in this room before I went to sleep, and it was night, so there must be a switch.

I remember Rogue Prince already being in bed before me while it was still on, so I check his side of the bed. There is a weirdly shaped lamp on the side table, and I try to feel for some switch or a button—

Rogue Prince grunts and sits up, moving me back roughly. He lifts something small from the table and soon I can see the flame of a lighter. He uses it to light a lamp while I stare at all of this with wide eyes.

What? Why?

“There’s no electricity here,” he says with a surprisingly calm voice.

I know arranged marriage is not screaming modern times exactly, but this? No cars, no phones, no flush toilets—and now—no electricity? I didn’t sign up for that!

“Here? The whole castle? There were lights on on the way to our wedding, there must be…” I start rumbling in shock that I was thrown into some stupid Middle Ages situation.

Rogue Prince stands up, towering over me.

“No power in this room. There’s some in a few parts of the castle, like my office. But feel free to run the cables through all these stone walls if you are bored and able.”

“I, um, I need to pee,” I say and turn around, wanting to flee from him, but he catches my shoulders and puts his knife to my throat.

“Forget something?” he asks with his husky voice, leaning over, his lips dangerously near my ear.

Is it about calling him the royal title? Or not apologizing for a rude wake-up? Or maybe not greeting him first thing in the morning? Or is it not waking him with a blowjob like some good-obedient wife he probably hoped for? Fuck knows.

“Good morning, your Highness,” I say, hoping it would be enough for him to take the blade from my throat.

He moves the hand that holds the knife to my jaw, and he uses his fingers to turn my face to him, with the cold blade touching my cheek.

I look up at his navy-blue eyes, but he doesn’t look back at mine. He gazes at my lips hungrily, making me catch my breath. He leans some more and surprises me by kissing me roughly.

I let him—as if I had any choice in that.

I feel cold when he suddenly lets me go, but I try not to show it. He slaps my ass and sits back down on the bed, so I continue to walk to the small wooden door and sorry excuse of a toilet.

“Wait,” he says, so I stop in my tracks because even if I don’t want to admit it to myself, I might be a little bit scared of this unpredictable prick with a sharp knife. “You borrowed something from me, and I want it back.”

I look down at his underwear, realizing what his sweet goal is—my naked body.

He wants to win that little game of his. I’m half-surprised he didn’t show me his morning erection yet for a little extra motivation.

I choose to ignore him and take another step to the door.

“Take it off!” he demands with an alpha command in his voice that should make me do whatever he wants.

Should being the keyword.

I laugh, knowing he doesn’t have power over me. I just continue to do what I’ve needed to do. Pee. With the door cracked open because I wanted some light in this horrible tiny space. He would hear me anyway.

When I’m done, he waits for me in the middle of the room, standing tall and mighty with a furious look and crossed arms.

“Why?” he asks with gritted teeth.

I take a few steps toward him and smile politely, as a good princess should.

“Why?” I ask with amusement. “I am an alpha-blooded princess, the Alpha Princess. And you are not my alpha. Your father is. We are equal here.” I wave my hand toward the room.

He’s practically seething now.

“Your Highness,” I add and bow in a respectful manner, wondering when he will finally realize all that crap is just me silently mocking him .

“Take it all off,” he says again with even more alpha conviction than before.

“Your alpha commands won’t work on me no matter how hard you try, but don’t worry, I’ll pretend I have to listen to you when we are in public. If you want me to, of course, your Highness,” I bow like the real princess I am.

“Of course, you’ll listen to me in public. Try not to.”

My heart skips a bit. Did he… did he just threaten me?

He looks at the point of his knife for a brief second and then throws it at me ruthlessly—the blade barely missing my left ear and going through the wooden door behind me like it was butter. Splints of wood are flying everywhere around me.

Yup, that was a threat.

“Of course, Your Highness,” I say, but I don’t bow or even look at him because quite frankly? Fuck him.

I move around him and go to my suitcases to start unpacking. Still dark outside or not, I have to do something to occupy my hands.

So they won’t be free to strangle that man, because I would not be successful. He would be, and I value my life too much for that.

By the sound of it, Rogue Prince occupies himself by exercising, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of checking him out. No. Not today.

I don’t look at him, and we don’t talk.

Slowly, it starts to get a lot brighter and easier to unpack. As soon as the sun is up, someone knocks on the big, dark wooden door to our room, and he lets them in.

“Good morning, Alpha,” a few casually dressed men greet him, ignoring me.

They have steaming buckets with them, and they start to exchange the cold water in the bathtub. There is no plug; they just take it out with an empty bucket that stood behind it and then lift the almost empty bathtub to pour out whatever was left inside .

I realize I’m rudely staring at their old ways, so I return to unpacking my things.

They start to talk quietly but grow louder and louder until I hear some of it, whether I want to ignore it or not.

“Oh, she was not a virgin. You were right,” one of them says with the most casual voice, while changing our bedding.

What the hell? Are they talking about me? And Rogue Prince prick just lets them? But why do they… Oh. Oh! They were looking to see if there was blood on our white sheet!

“You do realize that the hymen comes in lots of different shapes and has holes already for the menstrual blood—they can just stretch during sex, not always breaking or bleeding?” I was getting angrier by the second. “And if there is blood, it doesn’t mean the woman was a virgin either! The sex could be rough, or there could not be enough lubrication, or the hymen could simply return to its size after the previous stretching. Read the damn anatomy book, you fools!”

I throw the colossal book I’ve been holding at their dumbfounded faces.

They scatter after this and promptly leave us with a nod to their alpha, who is now looking at me with a spark in his eye.