Page 12 of Hateful Prince

A tinkling laugh came from somewhere in the room, and Masterson’s face paled. I followed her gaze to the creepy as fuck doll sitting on the shelf, her dead eyes staring off at nothing. Then she turned her fucking head and stared straight at me. “Come on, Dahlia. Don’t you want to play with me?”

Oh fuck no.

Chapter

Four

TOR

Thanks to Dr. Masterson’s extended session last night, I’d been away from Dahlia for far too long, and now my beast demanded I let my primal side out to play. Ideally, that would be something I could take care of with my mate, but now it was her turn to see the good doctor, so blood sports it was. Anything to release the mounting tension.

The scents of dirt and clean morning air were welcome distractions from my urge to be with my mate, reminders of the world around me outside of the perfection being with Dahlia provided. I would have to learn how to function without her. If I never left her side, how could I ensure she had her needs met?

Besides, Dahlia would likely stab me if I didn’t force myself to give her space. She was like my mother in that regard. A Berserker’s mate had to be. Timid, docile creatures would never appeal to our baser urges. We needed strong women. Ones that would stand up to us and put us in our place regardless of our size or temper. That’s what made winning them over so appealing.

She’d hand me my arse, and I’d spank hers.

A tiny growl caught my attention as I bounded through the forest, the sound stalling me as I searched for possible prey. A gift for my beauty?

No.

The last thing she wanted was a dead animal at her door. Perhaps a pet, though? She seemed to genuinely love Asshole. Maybe she needed a furry creature of her own. I broke through the trees to find a little nest and the source of the growls.

I’d never had reason to come across the creature known as an owlbear, but there was no mistaking the cub for anything else. It was about the size of a large puppy, its chubby body feathered, its sharp beak tipped toward the sky.

“Well, hello there, little one. Aren’t you fearsome?” Yes, I spoke to the cub in a baby voice. How else does one talk to an infant?

The cub ceased its hungry growls, looking at me with wide golden eyes. It was too young to fear me, not having yet learned about the danger of other predators. I didn’t want to be the one to teach it that lesson. Some things should be protected at all costs, innocence chief among them.

A high-pitched whine left the cub as it took a few shaky steps toward me. This baby was hungry; there was no doubt in my mind. Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only predator out here in the Black Forest, and a chubby morsel like this would be easy pickings.

“No, no, little one. Stay put. Stay quiet. You’ll draw unwanted attention.”

A rustle in the brush proved me right. It was far too low to the ground to be the cub’s mother, which meant whatever was sniffing around could only be a threat.

I spun around, my protective instincts surging to the surface. My beast was never far these days, so it wasn’t like it took much to pull me to the killing edge.

I’d come out here looking for a fight, and it seemed like I was about to get it.

The baby at my feet let out a little squeak, attempting to follow me as I took a step forward.

“Shh. Try not to get underfoot, little one. Nothing will harm you.”

The wolf’s snout came into view first as it crept forward out of the protection of the bushes. Jaws snapping, spittle flying, the feral creature proved itself to be a shifter based on size alone. Easily three times the bulk of a natural wolf, this one also had eyes that glowed a threatening red and teeth longer and sharper than a switchblade. Its focus wasn’t on me but on the fat little snack at my feet.

That was its first mistake.

It was about to be its last.

The feral dog finally spared me a glance, spittle dripping from its snout as it bared its fangs at me. It let out a low growl, staking its claim. I couldn’t help but laugh. “Am I supposed to be scared?”

It continued to growl.

“I can do that too,” I said before releasing a roar of my own.

The wolf’s ears flattened, but it didn’t back down. Instead, its scruff stood on end, and its whole body tensed as though ready to pounce on me. That was fine. I’d ruin him here and now and return victorious with a new pelt for my mate’s bed. Surely she’d appreciate that. She was always reaching for a blanket.

The hunter leapt, intent on taking me down so it could claim its prize. It had to be starving; there was no way it could think to best me. But I was the first to admit that oftentimes instinct overrode reason.

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