Page 11 of Deadly Ties

Okay. This part gels with Link’s version of events. “Rory’s dad. His real name is Erikson, right?”

Arben’s lips turn down at the edges. “Yes. Lincoln was Hila’s only son, but the other two were born to his lieutenants, so they all grew up together in the pack.”

Friends, but not brothers. I’d guessed as much, especially with how close Rory and Cam had been during my heat. But it’s good to hear the truth, even if it does just lead to more questions. “And Erik Steiner took them all north with him?”

“Lincoln’s mother was fragile. An omega, and rumored to be very gentle, which must have been hell mated to Hila. She was a kind of surrogate mother to the other two since they’d lost their mothers young. All three of the boys were very protective of her.”

It hurts my heart, thinking of another vulnerable omega mother, but I don’t let myself project my own feelings on the brothers. It explained their close bond, though, and how I’d been so easily fooled into thinking they were my stepbrothers.

I push that thought away, focusing on the soothing circles of Arben’s thumb on my spine. “So Kelly really is Link’s sister? She’s an omega like her mom?”

Instead of answering straight away, he leans down to kiss me. It’s soft, careful, with more than a touch of adoration, and my wolf purrs at the gesture. I let it go on for longer than I should, but eventually pull away. “Why does it feel like you’re trying to distract me? Just tell me, Arben.”

“Remember Prior’s prince?”

I frown at him, surprised by the change in topic. “Of course. I was at boarding school in Europe when he went missing.” Prior’s prince was even more famous than Bisha’s baby. The son of Barkley Prior, one of the wealthiest men in the world, Kellman Prior was heir to a billion-dollar fortune and one of the largest packs in Europe. He’d gone missing on his sixteenth birthday, presumably abducted by his father’s enemies, and there were endless rumors about what had really happened to him.

“Just before he turned sixteen, Kellman Prior presented as an omega. The abduction rumors were a cover-up. His father hid him away and brought in designation experts from all over the world, subjecting him to brutal treatments to activate his latent tendencies. To make him the alpha Prior believed his son was meant to be.”

Indignation makes me sit up straighter. “That’s ridiculous. We don’t choose to be born this way.”

“His father had a god complex. When the treatments didn’t produce the alpha heir he wanted, Barkley sent Kellman to his old ally, Enkel Hila. He was known for extreme discipline within his pack. Hila kept Kellman Prior for six months until he was overthrown by Roan. In all the chaos of the takeover, Kellman disappeared. We assumed he’d been extracted by his father, but when Barkley died a few years later, his widow reached out, asking Roan to find her son. Roan put me on it as a priority, and I tracked Kellman upstate.”

“You found him…” I almost can’t believe it. Kellman Prior’s disappearance was the subject of endless conspiracy theories and true crime documentaries. To hear that he was here, tangled up in my own story, makes my skin tingle in shock. It’s only as I think it through that my stomach clenches. “But my dad – Bisha – didn’t send him home, did he?”

Arben brushes a hand down my spine. It’s sensual, because any touch by my mate is exquisite. But there’s sympathy there, too. “That is not how men like Roan work, my love.”

“No.” I grit my teeth, my hatred for Roan Bisha making me see red. “That asshole! Prior’s prince was the king now, right? One of the richest omegas in the world? Bisha would want a piece of that.”

Arben gives a tight nod. “I took the four of them to the Tower. I didn’t know until later that Roan was already shopping for an alpha for the prince. He knew I would disapprove, so he got another tog to do the hand off. After he forced Kellman’s mother to sign over all of their American interests to him, of course.”

“Of course.” So, Roan Bisha got richer, and the prince was sold into omega slavery. My hands are squeezing so tight, I can feel the tips of my claws biting into my palms. “We have to find him, Arben. We have to fix this somehow.”

He studies me with his dark eyes. “He really is Lincoln Hila’s mate. That was one of the true threads in his web of lies.”

I think about that for a moment, then shrug. Giving Link what he wants isn’t high on my agenda, but I wouldn’t be doing it for him. This is omega business, and like Glo told me, omegas need to stick together. Even ones who are as rich and famous as Link’s missing mate.

I remember some of the stories about Prior’s prince. Every article began with detailed descriptions of his beauty, the paparazzi salivating over his looks as much as his eye-watering inheritance. I’d seen a few pictures of him taken at his boarding school in England, and I remember thinking he looked like an innocent angel growing into a delicious devil’s body. He had masses of red-gold hair and sparkling brown eyes, and even at sixteen he had a long, lean build, the promise of strength in his sculpted arms and broad chest.

And then there wasthatpicture. The one of him playing rugby at his boarding school that had melted the internet. It was taken on a rainy day, his tawny skin splattered in mud and his soaked jersey lifted to show a defined six pack as he wiped his grinning face. Dimples, dancing eyes, and abs for days. It had instantly become the most sought-after screensaver at school and graced my roommate’s wall for the rest of the year. Most nights ended with her fingering herself to his perfect, flushed face, crying his name into her pillow. I’d waited until she fell into a sated sleep before I’d done the same, most of the time the prince’s face blending with Arben’s in my mind.

I try to hide my blush at the memory, but Arben can already feel the wisp of my arousal through our bond. I expect his fingers to slide away from my spine, but instead they lift to grip the back of my neck. He holds me still as his eyes rake over face, his lips pressed to my ear. When he speaks, it’s a heady whisper that makes my toes curl. “You want him.”

There’s no anger in his voice; just curiosity and the usual heat that licks over my skin when we’re touching. I rub my cheek against his wrist, but don’t try to deny my interest in Prior’s prince. “I… want to help him. I don’t know if it’s because of Bisha. Making amends. Or because he was a fantasy, once upon a time. A prince on a bedroom wall.” I shake my head, feeling a little silly. “Just a schoolgirl’s dream.”

Arben purrs at that. “I thoughtIwas your dream. Your many detailed letters told me so. You called me your princ i errët.”

My dark prince.Ah, so that’s where his fascination for the title comes from. It’s embarrassing even thinking about those letters now, but he’s not wrong. Kellan Prior was an untouchable, sunlit fantasy. A dream alpha who soothed my lonely heart. But Arben Marku was already firmly under my skin by then, buried inside the scarred places of my soul. I cringe at my younger love-sick self, but it doesn’t take a therapist to work out why they were both necessary for me at the time. “Maybe I called you that at first, but after ignoring me all those years, you were definitely theprinc i errësirës. Prince of Darkness. As in, the Devil.”

He mock-growls, leaning over the sofa until his teeth are back on the mark on my throat. As soon as I feel the pressure on his bite my body turns liquid and I sink into the leather. I should probably be embarrassed by how wet I am, but it’s not like Arben gave me panties to go with his shirt. If I puddle on his elegant couch, it’s hardly my fault...

I mumble something like this as he laps at his mark, his growl deepening until he hauls himself over the back of the sofa. I smirk at the wolf in his eyes, then very happily sink under his looming body. “I plan to rut you into every surface in this cabin,” he tells me, his weight balanced on one hand as the other plays between my legs. “I want you soaked into every chair, your perfume dripping from every wall.”

I arch my back as his fingers curl inside me, his thumb strumming my clit. “I’m up for that,” I whimper, grinding my pussy against his hand. “Anything. Everywhere.”

The rumble in his chest makes the leather sofa groan under us. “Do you know how long I dreamed of this, princeshë? Luring you into my den, laying you down like a feast…”

I lick my bacon-flavored lips. “Fit for a king?”

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