Page 53 of Chained

He leans into my touch like a cat.

“You got hurt?”

“Head injury,” he says with a wry smile. “I know…my head’s too thick to be injured.”

I trace the scar over his forehead. “I don’t think that.”

He takes my hand with his huge clawed one. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Perhaps I don’t deserve you, Maxym. But I don’t think fate would have put us together along with a baking Cirmos and a hidden prince if we didn’t deserve each other.”

“Perhaps you’re simply trouble,” he rasps, the smile widening.

“Perhaps I am,” I respond. “But you know trouble just as much.”

There is so much I don’t know about Maxym, and I don’t want to probe the thoughtbond. Except I’ve bound myself to him in so many ways, not least because my heart quickens every time he looks at me with his liquid dark eyes, every time he smiles and shows all his fangs, every time he growls my name or calls me his “little scrap.”

I am invested. He belongs to me, to us, as much as he has ever growledmine.

His eyes are half closed as I shove my fingers deeper into his soft downy feathers, all warm and silky. He hums with pleasure.

It seems I have a gladiator who is putty in my hands, as long as those hands are in his feathers. Although, when I notice the lump in his pants, the thoughts which are firing down the thoughtbond are anything but benign. They are extremely naughty, and he’s getting hornier by the second.

“Before the Gryn explodes”—Tibi appears beside me—“Retah wants you.”

She levels her green eyes at Maxym, who has the cutest dopey expression on his face. “Both of you. Especially you.” She jabs a finger at Maxym. “Or you’ll be drooling on the floor.”

“I don’t drool,” Maxym says genially.

The flash in Tibi’s eyes suggests she knows otherwise. Maxym unfolds himself from the stool as I get to my feet, and he wipes the back of his hand over his mouth. I hide a smile, although he already knows what I’m thinking.

“Let’s see what Retah—Prince Baronn—wants.” I take his hand, and we walk over to where our newly elevated to the aristocracy friend is still digging into a crate.

“Prince Baronn,” Maxym growls.

“Just call me Retah.” He straightens out of the box with a wisp of packing material attached to one horn.

He looks anything but regal. I feel Maxym’s mirth even though my big warrior keeps his face entirely straight.

“Retah,” Maxym rasps. “The Cirmos said you needed to speak to us.”

“Yes.” He pulls the packing from his horn and looks at it as if surprised to see it. “Come with me. We need to go to my study where my comms are. I need to get you both up to date as to the invasion.”

We follow Retah back up into the house.

“Do you have a crown or something?” Maxym asks him. “Princes have crowns, or at least the ones I’ve killed have.”

Retah gives him a strange look. “I left my crown on my planet, along with my family, who all died,” he says.

Maxym holds up his hands. “Just wondering.”

“Look, I appreciate all of this is a revelation to you both, but…”

Retah doesn’t get to finish the sentence as Maxym has him up against the wall, scimitar onyx claws at his throat.

“I don’t like being lied to. I don’t like my mate being lied to,prince, so you’d better choose your next words very carefully,” Maxym snarls. “Why did you pretend to be something you are not?”

“I did not. I am an arms dealer,” Retah retorts, grabbing hold of one of Maxym’s wings. “I’m also a prince of a fallen planet who wants his revenge.”

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