Wolf Princess Sold to the Dragon King novel Chapter 67

Chapter 67: Bad, Nicholas. We Do Not Pounce On Mate.

Four men. Eleven seconds. Nicholas wiped his blade and continued down the stairwell without comment.

The man was good. There was no denying it. A king who had earned every ounce of his power and was still humble enough to not let you know it. Guinevere filed that observation away next to the other hundred she’d made tonight.

He stopped where three corridors branched, chin lifted, nostrils flaring, pulling scent from the air. "There are wolves in this Keep. Not my men."

She was a wolf living in a dragon Keep during an attack that included wolves. The political math on that was ugly in every direction.

She met his eyes. "Not ideal."

"No, it’s not."

His wolf was not as calm about it.

We take her from here. Home with us. Ours. Mate.

Nicholas took a deep breath out of habit, then immediately regretted it. Her scent was gasoline and his wolf had the matches. His vision bled molten gold at the edges. The urge to slide his hands all over her body, to mark her with his scent, and make her cum on his fingers slammed into him so strongly that he grabbed both of her arms.

Every muscle in his body was at war with his wolf and she had no idea.

"What is it, Nicholas?"

It took three full seconds before the king won. He let go of her arms, jaw locked. "I thought I saw something. We need to move."

She didn’t question it.

They moved. Three corridors of Nicholas killing people with the emotional availability of someone taking out the trash.

The next corner opened into a gallery. Eight armed men held three Drakencrest servants at knifepoint.

Every head turned.

"Well." One of them smiled. "Two more for the collection."

Nicholas assessed. Eight armed. Three hostages. One doorway. The geometry was bad, and the hostages made it worse because any move he made would trigger the knives at the servants’ throats.

Guinevere’s eyes moved across the scene. The three servants were women. Two of them she knew by name.

"Petra. Elowen." Her voice was calmer than it had any right to be. "Close your eyes."

Both women obeyed. Two women in a hostage situation closed their eyes because Guinevere told them to. Zero hesitation. Nicholas added this to the list.

Then he clocked her hands trembling.

"Guinevere. You’re treating it like a door. It’s a muscle. Stop thinking. Flex."

Eight men were advancing. The window was closing.

Gold ignited, erupting from her palms in a concussive wave. It hit the eight men like a wall of sun, leaving the three servants untouched.

Her fire knew who to burn and who to spare, which meant either the fire was intelligent or her subconscious was, and she wasn’t sure which option was more terrifying.

Immediately they screamed and released the hostages. Half of them began rolling. One was running. Another was on his knees, making sounds that would live inside her skull for the rest of her life.

Her hand flew to her mouth.

Stop. Stop. STOP. She thought to the fire, to herself, to whatever part of her biology was responsible.

The fire did not stop.

Nicholas saw it and turned to the three servants. "The east passage is clear. Don’t stop until you are at the barracks."

They thanked him and bolted from the gallery.

Nicholas grabbed her hand and didn’t stop walking until the screams had faded behind them and she was pressed against his chest.

"Breathe."

She hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until he said that.

"Have you never killed before tonight, Guinevere?"

"N-no," she replied.

His grip on her tightened, his wolf snarling in his mind, demanding he take her from here. He ignored it, and when he spoke, his voice came out light.

"Could have fooled me. I saw you pull a dark fae’s wing off his body once."

She made a noise between a laugh and a shudder.

"My first kill was one man with a sword and I didn’t sleep for a week. You’re ahead of the curve."

She drew back to look at him. "I have a hard time believing that."

Nicholas held her gaze, lips twitching, but he didn’t comment.

Both of his arms were locked around her still, her body fitting against his like a lock finding its key. Blood thrummed in his ears as heat surged down his shaft in thick, insistent waves.

His wolf flooded his mind with images of her pinned against the wall while he thrust. And just like that, he lost control and shoved her back against the stone, pressing against her.

Her gasp snapped him back to reality. He ripped his arms open, letting go of her, breathing like he’d run a war, and stepped back.

"Thought I heard something. False alarm," he said, clearing his throat.

Her hand went to her chest, steadying her breathing. "You just scared me more than the last eight did."

He flashed her a wicked grin. "I have that effect on most women. Don’t worry, it’s normal."

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