Page 77 of The Alien's Cruel Starfrost Domain

I sit up slowly, careful not to dislodge Kila. “The kitchen is off-limits to guests at night, sir.”

“Is it?” He drifts closer, and I catch the scent of wine on his breath. “How fortunate, then, that I don’t consider myself a guest. More of an...” He pauses, his gaze settling on the neckline of the dress I still wear. “An interested observer.”

Kila stirs, her wings buzzing in sleepy confusion. Before she can fully wake, Svalkat’s hand whips out with shocking speed. He snatches her up, ignoring her squeak of protest.

“Such a delicate creature.” He examines her like a butterfly he’s caught, his fingers pressing just hard enough to make her gasp. “I’ve always wondered how much pressure it would take to crush those tiny wings.”

“Don’t hurt her.” The words scrape out of my suddenly dry throat. “Please.”

His smile widens, showing too many teeth. “Please? How polite.” He glances around the kitchen, then moves to where empty preserving jars line a shelf. One-handed, he selects a jar and drops Kila inside, screwing the lid on tight. Her muffled shouts barely penetrate the thick glass.

She’ll suffocate, I start to say—but at least she’s out of his grasp. I remain silent.

“There.” He sets the jar on a high shelf, well out of my reach. “Now we can speak privately.”

I scramble to my feet, putting the hearth between us. “We have nothing to discuss.”

“Oh, I disagree.” He begins moving around the fire, stalking me with predatory grace. “I find you fascinating. A mere human who’scaught our duke’s eye? Who’s earned his protection?” He taps his lips, smirking all the while. “I simply must know your secret.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I edge away, trying to keep the distance between us constant. “I’m just a servant.”

“Oh, no, no. Truth binds reality, my dear. Lies allow chaos to seep through the cracks.” He’s moving faster now, herding me toward the corner. “I’ve seen how he watches you. How he threatens anyone who dares touch his precious pet.” His voice drops lower, almost intimate. “I wonder if you’re worth the risk.”

My back hits the wall. Svalkat’s body blocks any escape route, his bulk casting me in shadow.

“Please.” I hate the tremor in my voice. “Don’t.”

“Shhh.” He reaches out, trailing one finger down my cheek. His touch is cold, alien. “No need for fear. I simply want to understand what makes you so...special.”

I try to duck under his arm, but he catches my hair, yanking me back against the wall. Stars burst behind my eyes at the impact. Through my daze, I hear Kila’s frantic beating against the glass jar.

“Now, now.” Svalkat presses closer, his free hand moving to grip my throat. “Let’s not make this unpleasant. Though I must admit, your fear is intoxicating.”

His fingers tighten, cutting off my air. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision as he leans in, his tongue flicking out to taste my skin at my jawline. I want to scream, to fight, to do anything—but my body won’t respond.

“I wonder,” he muses, “if you’ll taste as sweet as you smell. If you’ll break as prettily as you tremble.” His hand slides down from my throat to my collarbone. “Shall we find out?”

Terror claws through me, sharp and metallic. This isn’t happening. Can’t be happening. But Svalkat’s weight pins me to the wall, and Kila’s desperate cries echo in my ears as the darkness closes in.

I’ve never felt so helpless. Not even when Ivrael bought me.

So afraid.

CHAPTER 23

IVRAEL

Sometime well after middark the night before the prince and his entourage are due to arrive, I sit up straight in my bed, my hand already wrapped around the hilt of the dagger I keep under my pillow, the one that matches my father’s sword.

My heart pounds so hard I can hear nothing else for a long moment.

Nothing moves in the darkness—not even after my heart rate slows and I’m no longer listening to the sound of my own blood racing through my veins. I wait for my senses to go off high alert—but they don’t. Whatever has awakened me is still pricking my intuition.

Starfrost Manor is almost pitch black, even though moonlight from the second moon, not yet set, still streams through the casement of the window.

I slip out of bed and pull on my breeches, not taking the time to lace them fully. From the valet stand where I draped my clothing the night before, I pluck a belt and sling it around my waist, the dagger’s scabbard hanging empty at my side.

I’m not willing to give up the weapon. Sometimes simply holding adagger can be a deterrent to others who might want to harm you. Besides, old habits die hard.

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