Page 82 of Bonds of Hate

“Quiet.” He spins me to face him, both hands gripping my upper arms. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing here?”

His anger doesn’t have the effect on me that I would expect. One dance with a bonded Alpha is enough to make Logan cause a scene. It’s hard not to feel a little gratified by that reaction.

The music continues to play, couples dancing around us as if nothing is happening. But I can see the eyes darting our way, the whispers behind raised hands.

It isn’t fear that sets my heart beating too fast as I stare into the face of a man who has been pushed too far. In fact, a sense of calm settles over me even as I know I’m watching the sparking wick of a stick of dynamite.

Something is about to happen.

Part of me desperately wants to know what he’ll do.

“Not here,” I tell him.

Logan’s eyes are wild, pupils blown wide and black. For a moment, I think he might actually lose control completely and mount me like a horse in the middle of the dance floor.

Instead, he wrenches me off my feet and practically carries me away through the crowd.

We don’t go far, ending up in one of the dozen alcoves concealed behind the heavy wall-to-ceiling drops of heavy drapery dotted along the walls of the ballroom.

Logan shoves me inside and wrenches the curtain closed behind us.

He hisses the question as he stalks toward me. “What do you think you’re doing?”

I don’t back away from him. If anything, I fight the urge to launch myself at him, all bared teeth and spitting curses. He is supposed to be the Alpha and he should act like it.

Maybe that crazed energy of his catching.

So I glare at him instead of saying something I can’t take back.

He slowly advances on me. “Maybe I should just fuck you right here and get it over with.”

I don’t believe he’ll do it, even as prickles of awareness dance down my spine. The thought of being taken for the first time against a wall just out of view of a hundred people is equal parts tempting and terrifying. “That would be your right.”

His fingers trace the line of my collarbone, leaving fire in their wake. “You’ve been pushing me since the moment you arrived. Testing my limits. Seeing how far you can go before I snap.”

“That’s not?—“

His hand wraps around my throat, not squeezing but holding firm enough to cut off my protest. “Don’t lie to me. You knew exactly what would happen when you danced with my brother.”

He is both right and wrong. This dress, my regal bearing, every moment since I stepped into the ballroom has been orchestrated. I even accepted Nikolai’s offer to dance, knowing that Logan would react poorly to the move.

But pushing him over the edge hadn’t been my intention.

Or had it?

He releases the pressure on my neck enough that I can speak.

“It would have been rude to refuse Prince Nikolai,” I offer.

“You could have looked to me for permission first.” His other hand slides down my back, pulling me closer. “Instead, you practically ran away from the table. That’s not the first time you’ve run away from me, is it?”

It’s hard to think past his intoxicating scent. I don’t have to like it for the taste of bitter clove and amber to envelop my senses. His proximity has always been enough to make my head spin.

“Do you want me to apologize?”

“You wouldn’t mean it.” He smirks at the look on my face, which must twist in grudging agreement. “I suppose I’ll have to get through to you in some other way.”

I expect Logan to kiss me. My tongue traces the curve of my suddenly dry lips, the movement compulsive. His attention fixates there, watching me like a man dying of thirst who wants to suck that bit of moisture right off me. Anticipation builds as he leans closer and I stay frozen, unsure if I want to comply or resist.

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