Page 21 of Slaying the Shifter Prince
You didn’t live in canvas-walled wagons for most of your life without learning how to ignore the sound of others fucking.
I rolled my eyes before closing them.
The bed jostled as they landed on it. There was more movement and a low groan from her that turned into a rising whimper. As I dozed off, I noted he made no sound.
Her cry of completion woke me. I tugged the blankets closer, trying to ignore the impression I’d been dreaming of one of my own lovers. At my core, my pulse throbbed. I pulled the blanket tighter, like that might shield my dreams from their sexual influence.
“Enough,” he muttered, a growl edging the word.
“But you haven’t even fucked—?”
“I saidenough. Go back to your room.”
“I don’t understand. We normally—”
“Go. I’ll speak to you in the morning.”
There was a long pause with only their heavy breaths.
“Is it because—?”
“Anya.” His voice carried a low note of warning.
“Fine,” she huffed. The bed jiggled, the door opened, and before it closed, I sank back towards sleep, a single thread of thought following me.
Zinnia. I promise I’ll get you justice. I’ll taste his blood, just like he’s tasted mine.
Except when I did it, he’d lie dead at my feet.
10
Iwoke with a foot digging into my ribs.
It was all real, then. I was the pet of a fae prince, sleeping at the end of his bed.
I lay in the dim room and listened to the soft sound of his breaths. Meanwhile, my wheeling thoughts went over and over the disaster that had led here and the first twenty-four hours of my punishment.
When I eased upright, the prince didn’t stir. He lay on his back, spread out, like the whole world was his to take up space in. I gritted my teeth and crept closer to the red hair spilling over the pillows.
Sleep had erased the self-satisfied smirk he usually wore. The amused arrogance had gone, too. His dark lashes brushed his cheeks and a slight crease had formed between his eyebrows. Most people looked younger or more peaceful in sleep.
Not him. He looked more serious, like he was doing all his thinking now after a hard afternoon of partying.
My fingers ached for the cold iron of my dagger. I could ease it between his ribs right now. He even had the blankets pooled around his waist, leaving his chest bare. It was practically an invitation.
The want buzzed through my muscles, making my hands clench and unclench. But I had no weapon.
Something pressed on the back of my eyes. Something I hadn’t felt in a long, long time. It licked the back of my throat with salt and flooded my tongue with the bitter taste of guilt.
I’d failed. Not just in my task, but worst of all, I’d failed my sister.
Maybe these reawakened feelings were my punishment. But that would require me to believe in the gods.
I dashed the tears from my eyes and slipped from the bed. I couldn’t kill the prince—not yet—but I could work this quivering need from my muscles. I pulled on his shirt and tied it at the front—it was loose enough for exercise, unlike my ruined outfit.
Deep breaths, then I eased into my warm-up stretches. By the time I was halfway through the routine, the tears stopped. By the time I started the strength portion of my workout, I was smiling.
I used various items from around the room as my weights—a stack of books, a small chest, a surprisingly heavy candlestick—and squatted and lunged, lifting them in a variety of configurations.
