Page 11 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

“Inbred bastard.”

“Quite possibly.”

I wait to see what she’ll say next.

Her chest heaves beneath me, breath tearing in and out as dark hair spills loose around her face.

A slow warmth slides down my neck. A bead of blood trickles from the scratch she left on my ear. Keeping one hand on her wrists, I wipe it away with my thumb and study the red smear with mild interest.

She follows the movement. “So, what happens now?”

“Why,” I murmur, “what did you have in mind?”

I lower my weight, settling more securely over her—only to become abruptly aware of my cock hardening against her thigh. I move back a fraction, irritated at my body’s reaction.

“Don’t toy with me,” she snaps, even as fear flickers in her eyes. She felt it too. Or perhaps my fangs cause her greater concern, because she asks, “You’re going to drink my blood, aren’t you?”

“No,” I reply.

“No? You were going to bite me earlier.”

“Yes. And now I find I’ve changed my mind.” I tilt my head. “Any other questions?”

“Yes, actually.” Her glare sharpens. “Why don’t you get the fuck off me?”

Silence resounds.

I’m not accustomed to being addressed like that—certainly not by a wolf. And judging by the brief flicker in her expression, she knows perfectly well how little it has helped her situation.

My tongue brushes my lower lip as I consider her, my gaze lingering on her throat. “Interesting.”

“What is?”

“You.”

I should get off her. This is hardly the time for distractions…or for wetting my cock. But then my attention snags on her necklace: a thin gold chain, the rounded edge of a locket half-hidden against her throat.

My heart begins to pound as I stare at it, my mind racing as I recognise the filigree engraving.

She shouldn’t have that.

I climb off her hastily and step away from the bed, straightening my coat and adjusting the line of my neck scarf. Drawing a steadying breath that’s a little too shaky.

She scrambles upright immediately, retreating to the far side of the mattress before sliding off the bed to stand. Her hands fly to the collar, fingers searching for a clasp.

“I wouldn’t waste your effort,” I tell her mildly. “I collared you, so I’m the only one who can remove it.”

Her outrage hardens. “Will it fall off if you’re dead?” she snaps, her hands still tugging uselessly at the leather.

A low chuckle escapes me as I straighten the furniture we overturned, careful to keep one eye on her.

“You’re welcome to try,” I say. “If you want to risk wearing it for eternity.”

“I’m willing to take that risk.”

A soft snort leaves me—and I make the mistake of turning my back on her.

I hear her move.