Page 16 of Blood On His Lips

But.

Renaud was prancing around my home under dubious supervision, and wewereFaronne. I expected a challenge or two announced once I emerged from my room, considering the first thing we ever did when under stress, or duress, was drink.

Well, fight or kill something—then drink.

I hauled my ass out of the tub, squeezed the excess water out of my too long dark curls, forgoing curl cream and flax seed gel though I would regret it in the morning, and walked into my bedroom like it was safe and a rabid Prince in heat wasn’t stressing the hospitality of my House.

Silly me.

A strong arm banded under my breasts, yanking me against a hard chest as a hand splayed flat against my stomach, sharp nails curved like talons as if he wanted to scoop out my guts, or maybe it was my ovaries he was after. I cringed away from that fleeting thought.

Then clamped down on the instinct to lunge for a weapon. Even if my lungs weren’t frantically inhaling his scent, there was only one male who treated my temper with impunity.

“Damn it, gods damn it, Renaud. This is the second time tonight someone has startled me on my territory.” I wasn’t going to sleep well, not that I ever really did with my nightmares. “Whatare you doing in my bedroom?”

What are you doing in my bedroom while I’m nakedwas the real question, but if he hadn’t noticed yet, I didn’t want to bring attention to it.

Too late.

Evidence of his notice nestled against my ass when he shifted his hips. He lowered his head, breath fanning the side of my face.

“I almost lost you tonight,” he said in a sibilant hiss. “Somehow, I have made a mistake. Someone is working against me. . .someone wishes to die.” His hold tightened, constricted. “Slowly. Terribly. Their agony the genesis of ten generations of nightmares. When I find them, with my own hand I will write their death into a story we’ll tell our Heirs to warn them againstprovoking my wrath.”

I shuddered, and not only because his inexplicable heat and strength was pressed against my body. The barely controlled rage in his voice, the hideous promise of retribution—I couldn’t mock it, not even mentally. Realms, did I need to rethink my plans to play along with this male until I gained an advantage? I still wanted him dead by my hand, or at least I thought I did.

I wasn’t certain of anything anymore. . .except the Vow. The Vow eclipsed uncertainty.

“That’s a bit over the top,” I said. “Wrath! Blood! Mayhem! Why can’t we just talk our differences out over a nice duel?”

“They almost took you from me, and I haven’t even tasted you yet.” The rage in his voice became the antithesis of destruction. Smoldering, masculine, as dark and promising as the muted screams in his voice, but alive.

I rolled my eyes, because, ofcourse, me dying without him fucking me first was therealinsult.

But this time, my shudder was due to that hand pressing against my stomach sliding down, down, cupping my mound as if my body belonged to him.

“Renaud—” I bit his name off on a curse as his fingers slipped between my folds, circled and plucked deftly at my clit. “You’re skipping steps. I am a High Lord’s daughter. You are required to court me.”

Leaping over steps, more like. We’d shared a few kisses so far, he wasn’t supposed to jump to attacking and finger fucking me in my bedroom.

Damn Fae males.

“Hush.” He kicked my ankles apart and attacked, devouring me with his fingers. Fingers that an hour ago had been black, bloody claws, sunk in the throat of an enemy the way they were now sunk in my body.

Well, not exactly the same way, though with High Fae blood and sex were two sides of a coin.

There was no fighting. Pleasure rushed to my core, undeniable. His free hand cupped my breast, squeezing, fingertips digging in to permanently brand me with his mark, painful in a way I was beginning to accept I craved. I’d have bruises from his strength, scratches from the length of his slightly too long and slightly too sharp nails.

“Gods,” I breathed, trembling. “Please, Prince, don’t do this to me.” Anything but this.

“Do what to you, my halfling?”

Addict me. Consume me. Remake my purpose.

“Bring you pleasure?” His breath hot in my ear, his words hotter. Scorching. Flaying every layer of resistance. “Make you come all over my fingers? Make you feed me your screams?”

His fingers plunged inside me. I cried out, then bit my bottom lip to stifle the sound. Had he locked the door? The last thing I needed was—

“You’re thinking too much. Normally, I would encourage that. . .”

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