On the Hunt (Sentinel Wars #3.5)(15)
Author: Gena Showalter

"They will when I agree to help them defeat you. Which I will do if you refuse this opportunity."

He stiffened. "I don’t like threats."

"And I don’t like issuing them. But I want this alliance, more than anything."

The man’s desperation relaxed him. He resumed his exploration of Rose’s pants, twisting the button, moving the zipper. His finger glided over her panties, and she gasped. Her nails dug into him once more, but not to hurt. To urge him on. "And what’s in this for you, hmm?" Had that breathless tone been his?

Greer sighed. "I’m old. I’m tired of all the fighting. I want to ensure my kingdom is properly cared for when I’m gone."

Truth or a lie, Vasili didn’t know. But the sentiment he understood. He wanted his kingdom safe, as well —but he wouldn’t be backed into a corner. "I could killyou and place a new king on your throne. One who will adore me. What think you of that plan?"

"I like it," Rose whispered. She arched against him, a command to attend her. He did. He cupped her between her legs, rubbing. Even with the thin cotton barrier, he could feel her moisture, her need for him, and he reacted. His cock, which had never truly deflated, grew and hardened.

He fought the urge to whip around, press himself against her, drop to his knees, taste her again, to have her, here, now, in front of everyone, or drag her away without a word to his guests. He needed her, wanted her, had to have her, and the wait was impossible. But he didn’t allow himself to do any of that. He would be patient, take care of territory business like a good boy—no matter the cost to his sanity—and then himself.

"You need a new plan," Greer said. "Before I die, I’ll either have joined with you or defeated you.

That, I swear."

Vasili stilled, the vow ringing in his ears. If he failed to wed one of the princesses, Greer would ensure their minor skirmishes became full-blown battles. That was what he was truly saying.

People would die. Lands would be burned. Was one life—Rose’s life—worth that? These people trusted him. Needed him. Relied on him.

"I need time," he gritted out.

Greer nodded, as if that were the answer he’d expected. "Do not take too long. But meanwhile.

Girls." He waved them closer. "Tell King Vasili all about yourselves so that he might know you better."

"Wait, what?" Rose suddenly demanded, pulling from his touch entirely. "Did you just say you needed time? To decide among them?"

He wanted to howl.

"Isn’t that just a party in a box?" she gritted out. "I’m outta here."

"No! You—"

"I’ll do it," Jasha said, cutting him off. "I’ll wed one of the princesses."

Vasili stopped breathing, afraid he’d misheard. "Are you sure?" Whether his brother’s claim was a token or not, Vasili didn’t care. He grasped onto the offer like a lifeline.

His brother nodded. "I’m sure."

To save Vasili from losing Rose, or because Jasha desired one of the princesses for his own and was too shy to say so? Again, Vasili didn’t care. Sweet, sweet lifeline.

"Do you find this acceptable, Greer?" he demanded.

The old king thought for a moment, then nodded. "A union with royalty is a union."

"Good. It’s agreed. Jasha may choose one of your daughters and wed her, and you will leave my people and my lands alone. Forever."

"Agreed. But the wedding must be soon," the old king insisted. "I was willing to give you, the king, time. The prince will not be afforded the same luxury."

Jasha gave a stiff nod. "I don’t care when it happens. A wedding is a wedding."

Vasili could have kissed him. "Enjoy the rest of the party, men, ladies. Now, if you’ll excuse me."

Vasili grabbed Rose’s wrist and dragged her out of the ball room for the second time that night.

"Dismiss the guard," she ground out when they reached the hallway. "I want to talk to you. And by talk, I mean peel the skin from your bones and hear you scream."

"Kinky, but no." He wasn’t taking a chance that they would be interrupted again. "This area isn’t private enough." He didn’t turn back to her, but coiled around several corners, pounded up a flight of stairs and down another hallway. Finally, he reached his wing of the palace.

Servants were tending to the party, so each room was deserted. He bypassed the bathing room, his workout room, his entertainment room, and headed straight into his bedroom.

Large bed. Four posters, velvet sheets. Silver, the color of her eyes. He’d had them made earlier that year. He stopped at the edge and turned to face her.

Her eyes were narrowed, her lips pulled tight in a scowl. She was panting, shoulders lifting and lowering in quick succession, as if she wanted to punch him but was restraining herself. Just barely.

"You needed time?" Although they were alone, she still spoke in his language.

She wanted to hash that out now? Fine. He would multitask. "Yes," he said, unbuttoning his shirt.

"I called you a slave and a mute, too, so feel free to slap me around while you shout."

"You threaten me and call me names, and that’s always been foreplay. But the fact that you needed to think about whether or not to killme so you could marry one of your princesses is insulting!"

Insulting? Try ingenious. His shirt fell from his shoulders, leaving his torso bare—except for the blades he had stashed on his arms, both of his tattoos covered. "I would never kill you, Rose. Ever."

"Rose." She laughed without humor. "There you go again, calling me by my name. You bastard!"

A bastard? For that? "I’m lost," he admitted, kicking off his boots before unfastening his pants, pushing them to the floor, and stepping out of them. There were blades strapped to his thighs and ankles, too.

"What happened to ‘darling’?" she lashed out, careful not to look at the hard c**k peeking from the waist of his underwear.

He blinked. She was angry that he hadn’t called her darling? A meaningless endearment he used for everyone?

"Were you going to pick the redhead?" Her voice rose. "You called her ‘darling’ fast enough.

Never mind. Don’t tell me. Just tell me how you were going to manage a new marriage if you weren’t going to off me. I seem to recall you telling me death was the only way out of the first one."

"And that’s still true, baby, but here are the facts. I can’t think when I’m with you. I’m reduced to two words. Mine and more. And I don’t call you darling anymore because—" He pressed his lips together. Do it. Tell her. But he’d never said the words before. Never thought them before.