Page 63 of Wolfkissed
Then she moans, and I swear on all the Sleeping Gods’ names, I’m going to lose my mind.
“Who are you dreaming of, Princess?” I whisper. “Tell me. Are you dreaming of your future husband? What are you doing with him? Is he going down on you? Is he fucking you?”
“Valen,” she whispers, her eyes tracking behind her lids. “Please, Valen…”
I freeze. Then a slow grin spreads over my face. “Fuck me… You’re dreaming of me? Why, I never, baby girl. You can have me any way you want me. I?—”
Loud barking interrupts me mid-sentence.
Dogs. Many of them, from the sound of it, barking up a storm, and then I hear voices. Doing my best to tune out her sweet, delicious scent of arousal, I sniff the air and smell humans.
Ah fuck, they followed us. “Princess.” I shake her gently. “We need to move.”
Dammit, I should have known this would happen.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
ROSAMUND
Of course they came after us.
If my brain hadn’t been fizzling since I found myself bouncing on Valen’s shoulder, I would have realized. They want me dead. They won’t risk me finding my way to Lord Eorl’s house and telling him what they’ve done, attempting to kill his bride to avoid paying the dowry.
So now I’m clinging to Valen’s muscular back as he climbs down the tree at a dizzying speed and starts sprinting through the woods. He didn’t ask me anything, didn’t explain, only ordered me to climb onto his back, and we were off.
It nettles me to answer to a man like that, a beastly man no less, to hang on his back like a sack of flour, my legs wrapped around his lean hips, my breasts bumping against him with every running step, but I have to admit he knows his way much better out here and if anyone can save me… then it’s Valen.
No doubt about it.
He runs and runs as if he can keep going forever at a pace a human could never match. The barking dogs are still behind us, but don’t sound so close anymore. My arms are slipping, my legs, too. They feel heavy and bruised from clinging to this madwolf racing up and down hills as if that’s what he does every day before breakfast.
He probably does. What do I know of the habits of werewolves?
“Hang on,” he growls when my hold slackens more. “Almost there.”
“Where?” I croak, hanging on for dear life as he takes an impossible leap over a creek and off a heap of rocks.
“This is far enough,” he tosses at me and finally stops. “I bet they’ve lost our scent by now. Crossing creeks helps, and the wind is blowing in our direction.”
“Which means...?”
“We’re safe for now.” He crouches down, and I simply slide off him—and right to the ground, my legs not holding me anymore. “You really know nothing of the laws of nature, do you?”
“And you really are the king of understatement, are you?” I grumble, still on my ass, still wheezing.
He chuckles as he turns around. “Nobody has ever accused me of being subtle.”
“And they were so right. It isn’t one of your virtues.”
“That implies I have virtues,” he grunts. “Oh, Princess, I didn’t know you thought so highly of me.”
I lift a hand in protest. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“You’re right.” His chuckle dies, though a soft smile lingers. “Let’s not.” Then a dark shadow passes behind his shining, golden eyes. “Look at you, in the mud, sprawled and relaxed, your hair loose, your... Fuck, woman, your body is wasted underneath those dresses you’re wearing.”
My hands fly up to my collar and find the top buttons undone. With trembling fingers, I redo them. “My body is none of your business,” I whisper.
“You think I didn’t feel every soft curve while you slept between my legs, up in the tree? Or as you hung onto my back, while I ran to escape the dogs and hunters?”
