Page 201 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

Nathaniel whirls around and tears the wand from Mark’s hand. The shimmer vanishes.

“What were you attempting?” Nathaniel hisses. “To throw me across the room? Bring the roof down—with my own wand?”

Mark’s hand remains suspended between them, his fingers curled around nothing. For once, his easy smirk is nowhere to be seen.

My stomach drops. I’d believed Mark’s insinuations about some powerful connection. A witch. Someone supplying the Poplarins with magic.

But he merely stole a wand he cannot harness properly.

Nathaniel rolls the wand once between his long fingers, regarding Mark with icy disdain.

“You dare turn it upon your prince?” His gaze drops briefly to Mark’s open trousers before returning to his face. “After I find you forgetting your place so spectacularly?”

With the faintest flick of his wrist, every candle in the attic goes out.

Darkness swallows the room.

When my night vision adjusts, I can make out the silhouettes filling the attic.

Mark has retreated a step. Around him, the other Poplarins scatter backwards, shoes scraping over the floorboards. Someone collides with a chair, cursing as it topples.

Nathaniel advances through the confusion, his attention fixed upon Mark. “Do give me one reason to leave you breathing. Or perhaps I shall give you to my father. It has been some time since he kept a male pet.”

I scramble off the mattress, shirt hanging open and skirt barely covering me. Mark deserves my fist in his face—and worse—but I will not watch Nathaniel punish him.

I seize the nearest candle stand. Heavy brass. Long enough to break his skull if I swing quickly enough.

“Kira.” Nathaniel’s red eyes gleam through the darkness as I place myself between him and Mark. “Move aside.”

“No. Leave us alone.”

He gives a long-suffering sigh, his gaze flicking past me to Mark. “You should be exceedingly grateful she has chosen to defend you.” His gaze flicks back to mine. “The rest of you may go. Kira stays.”

I heft the candelabra stand higher. “I’m leaving too.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” His voice grows more threatening even as he slips the wand inside his coat.

I swing, but he catches the heavy brass stand mid-strike. We are locked there—my arms straining beneath its weight.

I kick at his knee. He twists aside, tears the weapon from my hands and flings it across the attic. It crashes into the wall, scattering candles over the boards. I leap after it, but Nathaniel’s arm locks around my waist and drags me against him. I drive my elbow into his ribs. When he doesn’t release me, I stamp on his foot and claw at his forearm. Then I throw my head back, hoping to split his lips and get his blood so I can remove this infernal collar, but he leans away.

“Hold still,” he commands.

“Help me!” I shout at the Poplarins, thrashing to get away.

No one moves to help. They avert their eyes and retreat towards the door, abandoning me to Nathaniel.

Even Mark is leaving.

“Mark!”

He cradles his ruined shoulder, hatred for the vampire stark upon his face. Then he looks at me and hope flickers to life in my chest. He’ll fight for me. He’ll order the others forward. Defend his pack’s pride and prove his promises meant something. But the emotion drains from his face, leaving it cold and hard.

His amber gaze drifts to Nathaniel, then away. “Keep her,” he says hoarsely. “We want no quarrel with the Crown.”

What?

Fucking what?