He heard the Queen’s breath push from her lungs as her unprepared frame fell heavily under his clumsy accidental assault; then her dainty forepaws pressed against Skrillex’s chest—jolting him alive with their unexpected heat and softness—and she shoved him unceremoniously in the other direction, managing to heave his lithe frame completely to the side where the poor brute lay moaning in a springy bed of moss like a buffoon. It hurt to breathe. Skrillex had definitely damaged something—or at least aggravated something that had already been bruised—and now all he wanted to do was lie here in the dirt and never move and rot away like the pile of maggots he was. He messed up EVERYTHING! He couldn’t even run away from this young lady, this girl Alphess,, without fucking it up. When the pale Monarch rose to her feet, irritation shooting off her pale fur like sparks, the alabaster male shrank into himself—as if becoming a smaller target would prevent his oppressor from killing him.

Her vitriolic words were wasps stinging his ears. She was right: Skrillex was pretty stupid. Or, at least the ivory warrior believed, especially after the Empress pointed out where he now sprawled. Over the border? Seriously?! Skrillex raised his skull so quickly he heard one of the vertebrae in his neck pop. Eyes as green as fresh apples stared in wide, appalled disbelief at the invisible wall, sensitive nose confirming with ever inhalation that—yes indeed—Skrillex was now plopped directly over the pungent scent-line that served as this pack’s fence, his tail-tip the only thing still remotely located in no-wolf’s-land. Onyx hackles lifted into a shocked black forest along his shoulders. Now he was in for it. “By ‘stay,’ do you mean I’m a prisoner?” He practically puked the question out, his gentleman’s voice seeming to stick unpleasantly to the back of his throat like so much bile. He swiveled his verdant gaze around to peer just above the Queen’s mismatched portals, where it flickered around her forehead in a vain attempt not to anger her further. “I didn’t mean—I’m not trying to—”

Skrillex almost missed the saucy dart of her tongue as it flicked from her lips. Had she—wait. The action had been fast; the black-streaked bandit must have imagined such an act. Surely this proud and regal Czarina had not just . . . stuck her tongue out like a mocking puppy? His handsome, rust-stained muzzle sealed shut in confusion. That was the only reason Skrillex was able to hear the she-Pharaoh’s voice as it drifted in a surprisingly soothing ribbon toward his ear. Pain squeezed his heart . . . but it was a sweet kind of ache, a little budding of hope Skrillex dare not encourage. He tried to focus on the lady’s perfume, allowing the subtle notes of pine and rich soil and female to anchor him. Shyly, quietly, Skrillex looked at the Alphess from the corner of one wary neon eye. She had every right to slit his throat simply for fun, yet he heard nothing but patience and a ringing note of honesty in those tempting lyrics. Maybe . . . the Monarch was right. Maybe this was the kind of pack where Skrillex didn’t have to fear punishment at every turn.

And maybe Skrillex could fly if he only flung himself off a cliff hard enough.

“What is your name, m’lady? I’ve . . . rudely neglected to ask.” A ghost of a grin flitted across Skrillex’s muzzle as he made a lame attempt at humor. “I’m not . . . well, I’m not familiar with these lands. I apologize if my ignorance offends you.” Now Skrillex made to stand—slowly, of course, so as not to provoke the sheila who now held his life in her paws. His dark hackles began to settle against his spine again. A nervous laugh dropped from his teeth. “You’re a little terrifying, did you know that?”