Page 13 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

I huff a breath as I begin rebuttoning my shirt. “You have a nasty bite.”

“That was nothing,” she says, clearly pleased she drew blood.

“Hm.” I pull my shirt back into place and shrug my coat on again.

She moves faster than I’m prepared for, springing from the bed towards the door.

I catch her wrist and pin her to the wall again. She thrashes, furious, her human teeth snapping at empty air.

Smirking, I grasp her jaw and tilt it away before dipping my mouth to her throat.

“I have teeth too,” I remind her, letting my fang graze the curve of her throat, careful not to break skin. A mere warning.

She freezes, rigid beneath me.

My fangs throb, heat coiling low in my body as I resist the urge to lick her neck. Quieter, I ask, “Do you know what happens to wolves who bite?”

“If you want to kill me…go ahead.” The words are menacing, but her throat bobs with a swallow she can’t quite hide.

“Oh no. I don’t think you’re such a lost cause as that,” I drawl. “No. I propose an alternative: we shall re-educate you.”

Her gaze flicks towards the bed.

Ah. So that’s where her mind goes. I see the fear sharpen in her eyes, the revulsion beneath it.

“Contrary to whatever charming little conclusion you’ve leapt to,” I say, “that is not what I meant.”

“Whatever you’re planning—fuck you.”

My reassurance has plainly been wasted.

I make one last attempt at reason. “It would be in your best interest to come peacefully, pet.”

Her gaze hardens. “I’m not your pet.”

“No,” I concede. “Not yet. But it’s your inevitable future, I’m afraid.”

I reach into my coat again and withdraw a thin leather strap. From its centre hangs a smooth red ball.

Her gaze locks onto it. “What’s that?”

“A gag,” I reply lightly. “I won’t muzzle you unless it’s absolutely necessary. So tell me…” I tilt my head. “Is it necessary…pet?”

Rage flashes across her face.

“I said, I’m not your pet—”

The gag slides between her teeth before she can finish the sentence. Her protest dissolves into a furious muffled cry as I secure it behind her head, the enchanted buckles tightening neatly into place.

So perverse that my father used what precious little magic he had at his disposal for contraptions like this.

So convenient now.

She staggers away from me, and I let her. Muffled protests fill the air as she tries in vain to remove the gag. Then it’s just the sound of her breathing, harsh and uneven. She stares at me in shock. In fury.

Good. She was suffering under the delusion she had a choice.

I advance and grip her arm, tugging her close. She fights—kicking, twisting—but without her shift, it’s useless. I give her a single rough shake, and she stills.