Page 2 of Blade's Princess

I drag the heavy bag to the dumpster, wrestling with it, trying to heave it over the lip. When I finally manage, I pause, savoring these few seconds of solitude. October in Wraithport ischilly and there’s a bite to the evening air, but I find it a welcome relief from the stuffiness inside.

A soft mewling catches my attention. I peer into the shadows and spot several pairs of glowing eyes. Three cats—one orange tabby, one black, and one gray with missing patches of fur—and a dog, what looks like a small terrier mix, huddle near a pile of discarded pallets. My heart aches at their thin, dirty forms, ribs visible even in the dim lighting.

"Hey there little street gang," I whisper, crouching down. "Are you all hungry? Silly question. Of course you are."

Their wary eyes follow my movements. I know that feeling—constantly alert, always expecting the worst. Without hesitation, I hurry back inside. The catering staff is busy serving the main course, and no one notices as I wrap several chicken skewers and pastries in napkins and conceal them in a napkin.

Back in the alley, I kneel on the dirty ground, ignoring what it will do to Brittany's castoff dress. I hate it anyway.

"Here you go," I murmur, carefully laying out the food. "It's not much, but it's better than nothing."

The animals approach cautiously as I arrange their impromptu meal. The orange cat comes first, bolder than the others, followed by the terrier.

"There you go," I say, smiling as they begin to eat. "I wish I could take you all home with me." I stroke the terrier's matted fur as it wags its tail between bites. "But I'm not much better off than you guys," I confess to my furry audience. "Not much of a fairytale princess, am I?" I laugh softly at myself.

"They trust you."

The deep voice startles me so badly I lose my balance, falling backward onto the concrete. I look up to find him—the biker from inside—standing a few feet away, his massive frame blocking the alley light, casting his face in shadow.

My heart thunders in my ears as I scramble to my feet, brushing uselessly at the alley dirt and slime now smeared across the dress. Aunt Margaret will be livid.

"I—I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have taken the food," I stammer, praying he won't rat me out to Aunt Margaret.

He steps closer, and the light from the kitchen door catches his face. I can see his eyes now, a deep, rich brown. He moves with a predator's grace, controlled power in every step, but there's nothing threatening in his approach.

The animals, surprisingly, don't flee. The terrier even wags its tail, and the orange cat rubs against his boot.

"What's your name?" His voice is gentler than I expected, a rumbling baritone that seems to vibrate through the air between us. He rolls his shoulders inward and crouches his huge frame slightly, as if he's intentionally trying not to tower over me. Not to intimidate me. It seems so out of place, like this man isn't used to caring about how threatening his presence is.

"Sophie," I finally answer, trying hard to keep my voice steady. "Sophie Bennett."

Something flickers in his eyes, a heat that makes my breath catch. "I'm Blade."

"Blade," I repeat softly, the name fitting. He's seems as intense, as lethal, as the edge of a knife.

A shiver runs through me, the thin fabric of the dress offering little protection against the night chill. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to contain my body heat.

Blade notices immediately.

Without a word, he shrugs off his leather vest, then pulls his thermal henley over his head in one fluid motion, revealing a torso that looks like it's carved from marble and decorated with intricate tattoos.

I know I’m staring wide-eyed. I know my mouth is hanging open. I know it, but I can’t help it.

The sight of him, the expanse of his muscular chest and arms, is so raw and powerful and masculine. It ignites something in me I've never felt before. Flames lick low in my belly. Heat pools between my legs. My thoughts depart from sanity and I imagine what that chiseled body would feel like pressed against me. I blink rapidly, fighting the urge to squeeze my thighs together.

Before I can process what's happening, he steps forward and gently tugs the henley over my head.

The fabric engulfs me. I drown in it, the sleeves hanging well past my fingertips. It smells of leather, soap, and man. And it’s warm from his body . The gesture causes my panties to grow damp.

"Thank you," I whisper, stunned by his unexpected kindness. I can’t remember the last time anyone cared whether I was cold. I’m not used to anyone giving me anything without extracting a price.

He nods, putting his leather vest back on over his now bare chest. His close proximity is doing strange things to me. He's handsome, but in a harsh, dangerous way.

"Why are you out here alone?" he asks, and there's something in his tone—concern, maybe?

"I was taking out the trash." I glance toward the kitchen door but don't mention the punishment I could endure if I don't return soon—or if I'm caught out here with him.

His jaw tightens, eyes narrowing. "You don't look like you belong with that crowd in there.”

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