Page 211 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

Susie’s eyes flash. “Kira is not a possession.”

“She sought the protection of twelve wolves because no one offered her anything better.”

“I tried to. She could have joined my pack—”

“You failed to persuade her.”

“I was giving her a chance to make up her own mind!” Susie’s voice rises.

On the bed, Kira stirs, and we all freeze. After a moment, her breathing settles back into its slow, even rhythm.

When Susie speaks again, her voice is lower. “Arken, tell him she needs to stay.”

Arken studies Kira. “It would be safer to leave her here tonight.”

“You’re right,” I agree.

Susie’s shoulders slump with relief.

I bend over the bed and slide one arm beneath Kira’s shoulders, the other beneath her knees. The room wobbles as I straighten, but I hold her securely against my chest until it steadies.

“Nathaniel,” Susie protests, before looking towards Arken. “You cannot let him—”

“His Highness has made his decision.” Arken’s tone silences her.

Susie’s mouth falls open.

Arken places a hand upon her shoulder and draws her out of my path. “But I will escort him downstairs.”

I carry Kira from the room with Arken beside me. He follows me to my quarters and waits while I lower her carefully onto my bed. Only once she is settled beneath the blankets does he check her pulse again.

“If she has not woken by sunrise,” he says, straightening, “send for me.”

Arken lingers for a moment, his concern evident despite the severity of his expression. Then he steps into the corridor.

I close the door on my oldest friend and turn the lock.

I stand beside the bed, watching the faint rise and fall of Kira’s chest. Then I sit beside her and bend close, resting my head on the pillow near her shoulder. One arm settles loosely across her waist while my thumb finds the pulse at her wrist.

The reassurance lasts only until the next beat, and then the next.

It feels natural to hold her, like she always belonged in my arms.

I don’t dare to leave her bedside.

Outside, the windows remain black, with the dawn feeling impossibly distant.

An hour passes.

Then another.

I sit in the armchair I dragged to the bedside, listening to her soft breaths.

Kira lies on the side of my bed that has always been empty, swallowed by dark blankets. I have washed the blood from her throat, but the marks remain: two red punctures surrounded by the bruised impression of my mouth.

My mark. I had sworn that the next throat I drank from would belong to my true mate. Yet I had not thought of that vow once before sinking my fangs into Kira.

Bruising darkens the skin around the punctures, evidence of how long my fangs remain buried in her throat. I was too rough with her for her first time. Yet she moaned and pushed back against me again and again. She asked for more.