Page 54 of Rogue Alpha Prince
“You know what,” I pull myself up on my elbows. “I’m surprised you don’t have an armchair in that corner over there, to sit while swirling a glass of bourbon and looking at me in your bed. All main-love-interests dudes in the books have them.”
At least that’s what my brother says. Goddess, I miss him.
He arches his brow.
“What for? To look at their woman touching themselves?”
I snort with laughter.
“No, just sleeping. You seem creepy enough to do that.”
“Were you drinking wolfsbane?” He looks indifferent, but I can tell he is getting angry.
Or am I just projecting?
“Act like you didn’t make Atlas already report everything to you by the mind-link,” I fall back down on the bed, not caring about anything but the weird spinning in my head.
It wasmy first time drinking a wolfsbane-infused drink. It blocks werewolves' healing abilities, so it’s also my first time being drunk. But hey, I did a lot of ‘firsts’ recently, so why the hell not?
“Atlas? You call him by his name now? He’s still our Gamma. Is his dick in you right now? Huh?” He storms to the bed in a matter of seconds and crushes my body with his. “Was his dick inside you today? Did you fuck my Gamma?”
That escalated quickly.
“No, we just…” I wiggle under him, wanting to escape. I notice his whole face is sprinkled with dark red dots. Blood. He smells like blood, too.
“Do you want to fuck him?” Cain asks, pressing his groin between my legs and catching my arms in an iron hold.
When he presses them together over my head, I can’t hold my anger anymore, not while I’m completely immobilized by him, so I spit on him.
It’s barely a light spray, but I immediately regret my disrespectful recklessness anyway.
He is a fucking blood-covered Rogue Alpha Prince; what was I thinking?
He moves his free hand over his face, mixing the blood and something black on his fingers, with my spit. He licks his palm while looking into my eyes—probably to show me that no matter what I do, he can do worse. Then he smears it all over my face while I try to escape him.
“You sick fuck, leave me alone!” I scream and kick my legs, and wriggle my arms and whole body under him.
I can practically feel the sting on my cheek with a hit I anticipate from him. But he doesn’t hit me. He laughs coldly instead.
His mouth comes down on mine, and he kisses me feverishly. He always kisses me. And right now, I am starting to think it never has anything to do with any normal feelings toward me or even any sexual tension. No. He is driven by his desire to hurt me. It’s his way of stopping himself from harming me for real, probably because I’m his wife—we both know it’s more profitable for me to live.
He kisses me because it’s more profitable than killing me. The realization makes me dull and lifeless—he must have felt the shift in the way I kissed him back, because he abruptly cuts it short and looks at me with soul-searching eyes.
I feel uncomfortably naked under that gaze, so I look to the side.
“Look at me.”
I don’t.
“Look at me!” he roars with the alpha command, and I can’t help but do what he says.
He sighs and closes his eyes like he’s trying to calm himself down. I take a deep breath, too. Whoever came up with the brilliant idea of marrying us to each other didn’t think it through. Two royal-alpha-blooded werewolf generals are not the calmest combination.
“You are drunk and clearly in need of some calming down,” he says finally, as if he wasn’t the one to go all hotheaded on me a few seconds ago. “Take a bath, I’ll clean you.”
He lets me roll out from under him, and I go to the bathtub without arguing. I know there’s no point. He’ll clean me anyway. I just hope the water is warm.
“I haven’t seen any servants here since the first morning. Did you tell them not to come when I’m here?” I ask, taking the rest of my clothes off and sitting in the water that is indeed freshly filled.
