Wolf Princess Sold to the Dragon King

Chapter 67: Bad, Nicholas. We Do Not Pounce On Mate.

Four men. Eleven seconds. Nicholas wiped his blade and continued down the stairwell without comment.

The man was good. There was no denying it. A king who had earned every ounce of his power and was still humble enough to not let you know it. Guinevere filed that observation away next to the other hundred she’d made tonight.

He stopped where three corridors branched, chin lifted, nostrils flaring, pulling scent from the air. "There are wolves in this Keep. Not my men."

She was a wolf living in a dragon Keep during an attack that included wolves. The political math on that was ugly in every direction.

She met his eyes. "Not ideal."

"No, it’s not."

His wolf was not as calm about it.

We take her from here. Home with us. Ours. Mate.

Nicholas took a deep breath out of habit, then immediately regretted it. Her scent was gasoline and his wolf had the matches. His vision bled molten gold at the edges. The urge to slide his hands all over her body, to mark her with his scent, and make her cum on his fingers slammed into him so strongly that he grabbed both of her arms.

Every muscle in his body was at war with his wolf and she had no idea.

"What is it, Nicholas?"

It took three full seconds before the king won. He let go of her arms, jaw locked. "I thought I saw something. We need to move."

She didn’t question it.

They moved. Three corridors of Nicholas killing people with the emotional availability of someone taking out the trash.

The next corner opened into a gallery. Eight armed men held three Drakencrest servants at knifepoint.

Every head turned.

"Well." One of them smiled. "Two more for the collection."

Nicholas assessed. Eight armed. Three hostages. One doorway. The geometry was bad, and the hostages made it worse because any move he made would trigger the knives at the servants’ throats.

Guinevere’s eyes moved across the scene. The three servants were women. Two of them she knew by name.

"Petra. Elowen." Her voice was calmer than it had any right to be. "Close your eyes."

Both women obeyed. Two women in a hostage situation closed their eyes because Guinevere told them to. Zero hesitation. Nicholas added this to the list.

Then he clocked her hands trembling.

"Guinevere. You’re treating it like a door. It’s a muscle. Stop thinking. Flex."

Eight men were advancing. The window was closing.

Gold ignited, erupting from her palms in a concussive wave. It hit the eight men like a wall of sun, leaving the three servants untouched.

Her fire knew who to burn and who to spare, which meant either the fire was intelligent or her subconscious was, and she wasn’t sure which option was more terrifying.

Immediately they screamed and released the hostages. Half of them began rolling. One was running. Another was on his knees, making sounds that would live inside her skull for the rest of her life. ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom

Her hand flew to her mouth.

Stop. Stop. STOP. She thought to the fire, to herself, to whatever part of her biology was responsible.

The fire did not stop.

Nicholas saw it and turned to the three servants. "The east passage is clear. Don’t stop until you are at the barracks."

They thanked him and bolted from the gallery.

Nicholas grabbed her hand and didn’t stop walking until the screams had faded behind them and she was pressed against his chest.

"Breathe."

She hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until he said that.

"Have you never killed before tonight, Guinevere?"

"N-no," she replied.

His grip on her tightened, his wolf snarling in his mind, demanding he take her from here. He ignored it, and when he spoke, his voice came out light.

"Could have fooled me. I saw you pull a dark fae’s wing off his body once."

She made a noise between a laugh and a shudder.

"My first kill was one man with a sword and I didn’t sleep for a week. You’re ahead of the curve."

She drew back to look at him. "I have a hard time believing that."

Nicholas held her gaze, lips twitching, but he didn’t comment.

Both of his arms were locked around her still, her body fitting against his like a lock finding its key. Blood thrummed in his ears as heat surged down his shaft in thick, insistent waves.

His wolf flooded his mind with images of her pinned against the wall while he thrust. And just like that, he lost control and shoved her back against the stone, pressing against her.

Her gasp snapped him back to reality. He ripped his arms open, letting go of her, breathing like he’d run a war, and stepped back.

"Thought I heard something. False alarm," he said, clearing his throat.

Her hand went to her chest, steadying her breathing. "You just scared me more than the last eight did."

He flashed her a wicked grin. "I have that effect on most women. Don’t worry, it’s normal."

Then he pulled a short sword from his belt, flipped it in his hand, and tossed it to her hilt-first with the same energy of handing someone a pencil after their pen exploded.

"You had the right idea earlier. Blade at forty-five, point at the throat. Sell it. Stay behind me."

She adjusted her grip, lifting the blade, her face full of determination. She looked adorable, actually, but Nicholas wasn’t going to say that.

A body rounded the corner. Nicholas stepped in front of her, dropped the man, and came back adjusting her fingers on the hilt before she’d finished flinching. His palm pressed over her knuckles, while his chest was against her back.

"Your stance is right, but you’re holding it too hard. Loosen here. Tighten here." His thumb traced across her wrist. "There. Just like that."

She held it long after he stepped away.

He started doing that after every kill, showing her techniques. Absolutely not using it as an excuse to touch her. It distracted her from the killings, and she was a quick study. Too quick. She started correcting her own form before he reached her. He had mixed feelings about that. Proud. Disappointed.

The corridors got darker the further west they moved.

A door opened on her right. She turned, blade up, but the man was already inside her guard. His hand caught her wrist, twisting the sword out of her grip, a blade pressed to her throat from behind.

Nicholas killed him before she had time to be afraid.

He looked at her.

"Thank you." She flashed a grin. "I had it handled though."

"Handled," he repeated. "Your sword was on the floor."

"Momentum. Part of the plan, Nicholas."

She picked up her sword and kept walking. There was nothing else to comment on. He killed someone who grabbed her. That was the factual sequence of events with no subtext.

✦✦✦

Fifteen corridors. A hundred civilians. One hour.

Nicholas stopped being a foreign king at one point and became something worse. Indispensable.

He hadn’t caught his men’s scents or Maddox’s, which could only mean a few things. Best case they were defending the castle outside. Likely case, they were being held hostage. Worst case, they were dead.

"Guinevere, can you feel Maddox through your matebond?" The question tasted like ash in his mouth, but he needed the information.

Her sadness washed into him, making his wolf howl. That same sadness that kept coming in waves.

"N-no," she answered. "I haven’t been able to feel him all night."

Nicholas paused. It dawned on him that dragon matebonds might be different from wolves. The woman in front of him would be the only person who would know for sure. But he would never ask because they both were not acknowledging the giant elephant in the room. It was working surprisingly well.

"Maddox mentioned that he couldn’t feel you, when you were in the jungle. It’s probably whatever they are doing to the wards," Nicholas said.

The relief that flooded into him through their matebond at those words was layered and he couldn’t untangle it fully. It was almost like she was relieved Maddox wasn’t blocking her on purpose. But that wouldn’t make any sense.

Her face gave nothing away.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

She lifted her chin and inhaled. "The wolves are closer. I can smell the masking agent. Ashwood and blacksalt."

Nicholas blinked. He was expecting an answer that had to do with her feelings but instead got an identification of a military compound.

"Do you think it’s your father’s men?"

A loaded question.

"That practice isn’t just Lunaris." She met his eyes. "But you already knew that."

"That I did."

"So you were testing if I knew that."

"I was." Nicholas looked at her without apology. He was starting to wonder if there was a test she wouldn’t pass.

His wolf said mate again. Of course he did. He had the vocabulary of a parrot and the persistence of gravity.

Nicholas told his wolf to shut up. His wolf doubled down. He shut his eyes for half a second. The beast had never been this loud. freёwebnoѵel.com

It wasn’t asking anymore. It was warning him what would happen if he kept pretending she wasn’t already his.

He couldn’t shift with whatever wards were up, but his wolf kept trying to take over.

"N-Nicholas?"

When he opened his eyes, she was watching him with concern. Except her eyes were not green. They were gold. He could feel her wolf reaching for his like gravity.

They were supposed to be mates. Hers was made for his and he knew it.

His wolf surged harder, taking control. He gasped, falling to his hands and knees.

"Guinevere, run ahead," he grunted. "I’ll catch up."

Her scent was making it harder to take back control.

She knelt beside him, not understanding. When she spoke, her voice was no longer singular, her wolf surging to meet his. And he could tell she had no idea.

"I am not leaving you. Are you hurt?"

Nicholas shut his eyes, but it was too late.

He pounced on her, body caging hers to the ground, nose buried in her hair as he inhaled her scent like a dying man.