The Prince

“Somewhere in between us? She’ll be pale like you but with dark hair like me.”

“We don’t ask for much, do we?”

“It’s a dream. We can make her however we want. Let’s give her green eyes.”

“I prefer black.”

“Both then,” Kingsley said gamely. “Black hair and green eyes. Or perhaps green hair with black eyes.”

“She sounds lovely. What is she like?”

“Wild.” It was the first word that sprang to Kingsley’s mind. Søren seemed to be so controlled, so cold and restrained. He should have someone warm and wild to balance that out.

“Wild…yes. Untamed,” Søren suggested.

“But not untamable. Otherwise she’ll run away.”

Søren shook his head. “She will run away, I’m sure. She wouldn’t be truly wild if she didn’t.”

“But she’ll come back?”

“Yes…she’ll come back. She wants us to tame her.”

“At least we’ll tell ourselves that,” Kingsley said, rolling onto his side and caressing Søren’s neck and collarbone.

“She’ll be wilder and more dangerous than both of us together.”

“I adore her already. But I promise I’ll share her with you,” Kingsley pledged.

“You’re giving her to me, remember? I’m the one who will share her with you.”

“Of course. Forgive me. She’ll be yours and you’ll share her with me, because no one man will ever be enough for such a girl as her. And the three of us shall be a new unholy trinity.”

“God help us all.”

“He’ll have to, with such a girl as this.”

“She sounds perfect.”

“She’ll be as perfect as we are.”

“Poor girl. What should I get you in return for such a gift?” Søren asked as he took Kingsley’s hand from his neck and laid it on his stomach.

“Rien…nothing. I have all I want.”

“That’s not true. You were saying earlier how much you missed your sister.”

Kingsley sat up and looked down at Søren.

“Oui. Mais…she can’t afford a visit. Both of us…neither of us…we have no money.”

Søren raised his eyebrows and gave Kingsley an arrogant half smile that sent his stomach dropping into his groin.

“I do.”

NORTH

The Present

Kingsley stood for a solid hour in his shower, letting the hot water and the steam soothe his aching body. They weren’t quite doing enough for him. He’d either have to give in and soak in the bathtub or ingest a Vicodin and vodka cocktail. Or both.

Both.

He’d wanted this pain, prayed for this pain, he reminded himself. For thirty years he’d craved this pain like a starving man craves food. And he’d been fed pain tonight—a feast of pain so bountiful he’d nearly choked to death on it.

Looking down at his feet, Kingsley saw the water turning from red to pink and then clear again. Søren had been particularly thorough with him tonight. His poor Eleanor—she really had no idea the level of violence her beloved was capable of. Søren kept himself in check with her. He had to. Only five foot three and one hundred twenty pounds at the most, she earned her pet name “Little One.” At the height of her career as a Dominatrix, she’d been deceptively strong. He’d made her strong. A little girl like her had to be strong if she wanted to compete with the other, more physically intimidating Dominatrixes on the market. What she’d lacked in height and weight, she’d made up for in strength and uncommon viciousness. Others of her kind balked at the dark fantasies their clients laid at their feet. If Nora balked she never let on. She only grinned and said, “I’ll do it…if you’re a good boy.” And they were all good boys if they paid enough.

But no amount of personal training could change the fact that Nora Sutherlin was a woman and fragile. At least compared to him. And when Søren gave in finally and beat Kingsley, he held nothing back.

Kingsley turned off the water and grabbed his plushest, softest towel. Even it felt like salted sandpaper against his raw, bleeding, welt-covered back. Maybe he would simply go to bed wet and sleep on his stomach. But lying on his stomach would be something of an issue, as well. Kingsley looked down the front of his body.

“Good God,” he breathed as he saw the mass of bruises his abdomen and thighs had become. God, even his…

A wave of vertigo struck Kingsley as he studied his ravaged body. Welts and bite marks were the least of the damage. He’d seen an intruder attacked by his rottweilers who’d ended up less brutalized than he appeared right now. It would take weeks for the worst of the bruises to heal. They covered his body in deep black whorls, marbling his skin from neck to knee. He feared sleeping. Tomorrow morning he knew he’d barely be able to move. Søren had destroyed him more completely than the night he first took his Little One to bed. Kingsley had tended to twenty-year-old Nora for a week after that night—icing her bruises, rubbing ointment into her welts, picking the shards of glass from her feet and bandaging her bloody skin. She hadn’t cried. Not once. Not even when she’d woken up bleeding onto the sheets. More than not crying, the damn girl had even smiled. Smiled like only a woman in love could. Kingsley hated her for that, for not shedding a single tear no matter how much she suffered. Søren had broken her body the night she’d lost her virginity to him, but he hadn’t broken her spirit. And Kingsley had to respect her for that no matter how much he envied her Søren’s wounds.