Page 4 of Wicked Prince of Carnage
And then the wolf pinning Sterling down released her to give the one final killing blow to the gruesome scene. Prince Winter’s lupine gaze sharpened, warning her if she did anything, she would end up like her grandmother. She couldn’t risk the only thing she truly now had left—her brother.
Sprinting inside, while sharp pain shot through her wounds, she took her brother from the cabinet as he opened his eyes and wailed. She gathered food and her grandmother’s satchel that held a bag of coins before returning outside.
Sterling placed the bow at her back while the wolves waited to see if she would make a move against them. But she wouldn’t now. Instead, she turned her back on them and ran. She wouldn’t stop to rest until she made it out of the forest.
As she fled through the trees, Sterling vowed that she would kill every single wolf that took part in her grandmother’s murder. Including the prince.
CHAPTER TWO
WINTER
EIGHT YEARS LATER
No one was more feared than Prince Winter. Even if he hadn’t been born and bred to be a harsh ruler, the decades would’ve done the job for him. Did the Prince of Carnage take things too far on occasion? That would depend on who was asking…
The harlots never ran from him when he entered the brothels, though, not when they were too desperate for coin. This brothel was wretched, but the harlots did whatever he requested. Though humans were pitiful creatures, they were better at keeping secrets, especially when they feared one’s wrath.
Winter had been visiting the brothels ever since he rejected his mate, Talia.Fucking bitch. Most wolves in the Bloodstorm pack only ever settled down with their mates. Some wolves fucked around before they found each other as a bit of entertainment, but that was all it ever was.
Which meant Winter had a choice: forgive Talia or never take a mate.
There was a third option, of course… Marry and bed a human.
Winter’s skin crawled at the idea of binding himself to one of the village women. A human he’d briefly encountered eight years ago came to mind, the only one he’d ever found himself drawn to until he discovered the traitorous blood running through her veins. He shouldn’t still be wondering about her now, wishing he hadn’t discovered who she was and had run into her again—she should’ve been dead in his thoughts. But, every now and again,her face haunted his dreams and he woke curious where she’d disappeared to.
He pushed the memory of the human girl away. The answer to his mate dilemma was clear—he would die alone with no heir to the throne. Rule alone while wreaking havoc whenever and wherever he wished.
He sauntered down the brothel hallway, the scent of sex and rose petals heavy through the air. The brothel was always quiet in the mornings. Patrons and harlots alike slept off the excitement of the night before. The wine, the fucking.
He brushed his fingers against Jasira’s chipped, copper doorknob. Without a knock, he entered the overly-warm room. Wallpaper curled from the walls, and the curtain had been patched so many times, Winter wasn’t sure what the original fabric was. The young harlot sat on the edge of her thin mattress, running a brush through thick brown hair.
“Your Highness!” Jasira chirped and set her brush down on her tilted night table. “How may I serve you today?’
He didn’t say a word, only closed the door behind him and tossed her payment beside her brush.
Winter grabbed her wrist and dragged her nails down the side of his neck hard enough to leave red marks. He savored the slight burn. “Be rough,” he ordered.
A loud bang came at the door, shaking the worn wood. “Your Highness.”
Fuck.Winter’s wolf snarled, begging to come out and tear the man’s throat out. The king’s advisor was a nasally prick and must’ve followed him here. Always lurking, always inserting himself where he didn’t belong. As a glorified errand boy, he never seemed to get that through his thick skull.
“Come here. Show the bastard how feisty you can be.” Winter settled on the edge of the bed and yanked Jasira toward him possessively. She lifted her skirts and straddled him at the sametime she unlaced her bodice. Her small, perky breasts sprung free as another knock banged on the door.
“Oooh,” Jasira moaned loudly. Winter grabbed her hips and buried his face in her soft neck. “Don’t stop,” she continued.
“Your Highness!” Caston shouted a second time. “It’s your father.”
“It’salwaysmy father,” Winter grumbled into Jasira’s shoulder.
When Winter didn’t reply, Caston rattled the door handle. “I’m coming in.”
Intrusive bastard.Winter glared at the fucker as he stepped into the small bedroom. Where the prince had solid muscle, Caston was almost gaunt. He wore his dark blond hair neatly slicked back and his nose hooked toward the right. And most notably, he’d never fought to the brink of death like most in Winter’s pack.
“Can’t you see I’m busy?” Winter snarled, gripping Jasira’s hips tighter, her skirts flared around him.
Caston’s gaze fixed on her exposed chest, and he licked his lips. “You’re needed back at the manor immediately.”
“What is it this time?” Winter set Jasira aside and stood before adjusting his trousers. “If you’ve caught another group of hunters, lock the fuckers up and I’ll deal with them later.”
