Page 11 of Rogue Alpha Prince

I am furious but not stupid, so I bow, trying to ignore my stinging cheek that is already actively healing with a supernatural speed.

It’s just a cut, I remind myself—taking big breaths to calm down—even if I have every right in the world to punch that smug bastard in his perfect nose.

He takes a step in my direction and grabs my chin to look at the cut he just gave me. I don’t have anything nice to say, so I keep my mouth shut like the good princess I can be if I want to. He leans over and licks the blood off my cheek—leaving it tingling and wet with his saliva.

What the—

“Mmm. I love blood,” he says, and I can’t believe how sick he is. “See, you are already healed. It was just a scratch. You are still pretty, don’t worry.”

I’m imagining elongating my claws and racking them through hisprettyface.

“Undress,” he says, still holding my jaw in his big warm hand.

I look around, suddenly noticing we are alone on the cobblestone street. Even the horse went somewhere. It is quiet and dark. We barely entered what I think is the rogues’ capital city. The buildings around are still small and modest, but I can see a castle on the hill over Rogue Prince's shoulder.

A fucking dark stone castle! It's not a modern palace version of the mansion where I grew up. No. It’s a gothic-looking real castle.

Rogue Prince looks over his shoulder in the same direction, probably checking what I am looking at, but he does not comment on it. Instead, he asks me to undress again.

“Undress. They’re waiting.”

My eyes immediately snap to his.

“Who’s waiting? Your Highness.”

Please, please, don’t gang rape me.

“Wedding guests,” he answers casually, finally releasing my jaw.

What? Why am I undressing, then? What sick traditions do they have here? I’ve heard so many horror stories from women who our soldiers rescued from rogues, that my imagination is going wild right now. What do I have to endure to secure this peace deal my father so desperately signed with them?

What kind of sick weddings do they have here? And why were we left alone? Don’t they worry about… no. Scratch that. They say he is the most vicious wolf in our world, no one would dare to attack him. Of course, we are both safe here. Well, he is at least.

I’m looking at him, all tall and masculine, knowing damn well I should do what he says, but I’m unable to move. He gives me an irritated sigh with an eye roll and takes a step back. He starts to undress himself, looking at me with his cold stare—unbuckling belt after belt, clasp after clasp, lace after lace until he has nothing on but his black boxer briefs.

“Hm, I’m disappointed in you, your Highness, modern underwear under all this Viking leather crap?” I say, taking off my shoes and throwing them on the pile of his things.

He snorts with laughter, and I can’t help but smile.

I turn my back to him, lifting my braided strawberry-blonde hair to give him access to the zipper of my fancy dress.

He understands it without words and yanks it down for me. I turn again and painfully slowly push my dress down, revealing first my full breasts, then lean waist, skimpy underwear, wide enough hips, and strong legs.

He looks at my body, his eyes betraying some emotion for the first time this long evening. Lust. Yes, I can see the lust in them.

But it’s gone asquickly as it came. The prick schools his features well.

I throw my dress on the pile and start taking off my jewelry. There’s not much. I’m a werewolf, after all, and I need to be able to shift into a wolf quickly if I need to. My hand stops midair with my favorite necklace over the pile. I hesitate because I don’t want to lose it, and it is long enough for my wolf form to wear.

“Someone will bring this stuff to my room later. They know where we start.”

Start what?I wonder, but don’t ask. I decide to go with the flow and take a big steadying breath. Something tells me I will have to take a lot of those while living with this prick.

I unclench my fist, and the necklace falls on top of the pile. Its ruby stone pendant catches the moonbeam for a moment.

I look up. There are so many stars it seems impossible, and the moon is half shy from its fullest, most glorious state. First quarter, how fitting. Half bright as me, half dark as him.

“Good night for a royal wedding, don’t you think?” he asks as if he could read my thoughts. Not waiting for my response, he turns into his huge black wolf form, shredding his underwear in the process.

---