Page 113 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

“Neither!” I gasp, blood pounding in my ears.

“Neither?” He arches a blond brow. “My mistake. Your body language suggested otherwise.”

I shove at his chest.

He lets me move an inch, then turns me with appalling ease and presses me face-first to the stone wall. Cold stone meets my palms as his chest settles flush against my back, his body warm and hard through our clothes as he pins me in place. One hand wraps loosely around my throat, squeezing ever so slightly. The other slides along my waist to my hip, his breath hot in my ear.

“Like this,” he murmurs, gripping my hip. “I would take you like this.”

His hips roll forward, letting me feel the thick length of him through his trousers.

A shameful ache tightens low inside me, panic flashing in its wake. I buck hard, trying to twist away. The movement only grinds my bottom against him. Horror floods me, but the aching need between my thighs worsens.

“Get off me!” I plead, voice cracking into something far too close to a whimper.

“We wouldn’t even have to take your virginity,” he continues, fingers claiming my jaw as he tips my chin up. His voice drops, dark and velvet-rough. “I could simply fuck your ass instead.”

What?!

“You’re vile,” I choke out, the words barely making it past the tightness in my throat.

“My, you seem shocked. Has Zott not covered that particular lesson yet?”

I do not reply. I cannot. I have gone completely still, terrified that any movement will only press me harder against him—or worse, that I might push back against him on purpose. My focus has narrowed to the hard heat of him at my back, the stone beneath my hands, the strong lines of his arms caging me in, the relentless pressure of his arousal against my rear. Threat and fear twist into a pleasure so wrong I want to crawl out of my own skin.

“What if I don’t stop?” he whispers. “Would it make you hate me more?”

“Not possible. I already loathe you,” I snarl, regaining some of my fire as I struggle again.

“Good.”

He exhales roughly, then drags me off the wall and tosses me aside. I stagger, catching myself on the edge of the broken statue as I stumble out to the walkway.

I whirl around, nearly drawing the knife—but he is still in the alcove, as eerily still as the statue.

“Do not follow me again, Kira.” His voice slips into a soft, dangerous lilt. “Next time, I may not stop.”

I flee through the castle, ragged and furious, burning in places that have no business burning. I don’t slow until I reach the dank stairwell leading down to the dormitories. My hand finally finds the paring knife hidden in my sleeve.

Too late.

Useless. That is what I am. Nerves of steel when facing death, apparently, but one Vampire Prince presses me to a wall and I melt like wax too close to the fire.

I hate him.

I hate him so much I can barely breathe.

Halfway down the steps, I remember the library. The stupid book club I’m meant to be at.

I halt, releasing a heavy sigh.

I could still turn back, lock myself in my room, and nurse this rage alone. Except I don’t want to admit—even to myself—that he got the best of me. And I have no desire to explain to Susie and the others why I never showed up. Far easier to explain I was simply delayed.

So I go to the library anyway.

I expect to hate it, but I don’t.

The library is warm, full of amber lamps and high windows turned black by night. Clara brings biscuits wrapped in a cloth, still faintly warm from the kitchens. They are raisin oatmeal, which Harvey receives with a solemnity usually reserved for funerals before eating five. The others are sprawled across armchairs and beanbags in a loose circle, books balanced wherever they fit. Susie watches me with a soft smile, though there is a questioning look in her eyes when I first enter.