Page 83 of The Path of Blood and Betrayals

“He’s a monster, Max,” he explains, eyes weary. “You asked me to heal a monster.”

“I asked you to heal someone who was injured trying tokeep this raid alive. Or did you forget I went up there for the Blackwoods Coven?”

“It’s notyourCoven to worry about,” he argues, teeth gritted. “It’smyCoven. I worry about it. And you had me heal a Fae that could have killed us all.”

“I had you heal an ally,” I correct. “How would it look to let the prince of a territory die when you could have prevented it?”

Whipping his head away, Tay takes two steps before facing me, hand to his mouth. “Be that as it may, they now know who you are—whatyou can do.”

Silently, I stare. I have nothing to say to that.

Kaden has known what I am since the White Palace. It’s never mattered to him.

“Aren’t you worried what they’ll do with that information?”

Shrugging, I wrap my arms around my middle. “There’s not much they can do to me that hasn’t been done, Tay.”

“Don’t give me that.” He scoffs. “The Coven didn’t trust your magic but they gave you a home, warm meals.”

“They gave me cruelty and loneliness,” I argue. “You just didn’t want to see it.”

He opens his mouth and I shake my head, moving back to the Dark Fae grounds. “Get some rest, before you say something we both regret.”

Entering their deserted campsite, I stand, dumbly. I don’t want to go to sleep yet, worry for the heir too great, but I certainly don’t want to be alone with Tay.

It’s never been apparent how little he thinks of the Dark Fae or how he never saw how horrible the Coven was to me. I’m in no mood to soothe his ego.

Ducking my head into the tent, I see the prince in the middle of a large cot, piled high with blankets and pillows, a lush carpet underfoot. Trunks are stacked in the corner with more weapons.

Fit for royalty.

Moving closer, I see the heir, brow damp with sweat, hair tousledfrom sleep, chest bare. Blood smears the pillows and his eyes move as if dreaming.

I don’t think as I brush back his hair, my fingers tracing his pointed ear before a hand clamps on to my wrist, and yanks, pulling me over his hip.

Slamming into the cot, the heir pins me down, breath fanning my cheek, black eyes staring down into my wide ones. Fear, pungent and thick, clogs my throat as I freeze.

His head dips as his fangs press to my pulse point and I yelp. A prick of sharpness scraps my neck and I still, heart hammering so harshly, I can’t breathe.

He’s going to bite me.

“Don’t move,” he says, voice tight. “Your fear is making this so much worse.”

Gods above, it’s him. Exhausted, and hurt, but he’s battling the beast back before it tries to kill me.

But I have to calm down if I want to help.

Inhaling, I stifle the urge to scream and run away as his heat burns into my body. He’s slick with sweat and my core grows damp even as fear tightens my chest.

I should not be this aroused with him on top of me, ready to devour me whole.

Inhaling, I exhale harshly.

“Good, kitten. Much better.” His forehead falls to my neck and he relaxes, tension melting away.

Shaking, I’m still terrified, but now, it’s being overcome by the incessant need to know what he feels like between my thighs.

I went from not wanting him anywhere near me to needing him, physically. Is it this normal?