➸ Bellator Pulcher, Princeps Saeva

“Miss Khaleesi! I’ve never heard such a pretty title.” The butterscotch-and-strawberry heir bowed low to the ground, tail sweeping proudly above his back. He took the opportunity to gently kiss the white maiden’s forepaw—much like a fairy tale prince—before stretching back upward. A mischievous smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, adding a certain boyishness to his sunshine charm. Ice blue eyes danced as he gazed at her. “We’ve found ways of accepting our ‘changes,’ as you put it . . . but I’d be amiss if I did not say that meeting you proves far more enjoyable.”

“Laying it on too thick, Idal.” A low warning tone vibrated from Ingmar’s grey-and-onyx throat. He tried to look apologetic for the attractive snowy damsel, just barely restraining himself from rolling pallid sapphire eyes skyward. “I’m sorry, Khaleesi. My brother is an idiot.”

Their sibling bickering had this owl-feathered specimen laughing warmly—which only made her more desirable to the two princes. Ingmar wouldn’t have blamed Khaleesi if she found Idal too overbearing and chose to excuse herself; a spark of hope flickered in his breast, and he dared to think perhaps they would have a bit of fun with this delightful woman. She wore an easiness about her, an openness, that drew in the more aloof brother the way a fresh kill draws in a hungry hunter. Standing there, green eyes kind, no apprehension whatsoever . . . it made saliva thicken in his mouth with the need to taste her. Shit. Had it honestly been THAT long since he’d experienced proper bedsport? Much more of this pointless talk, this useless banter, and Ingmar might start acting as foolishly as his moron brother.

Idal had appalling manners—especially considering his lineage, and what he was meant to do at some point in his life. His pack would one day rely on himself and his brother to speak with ambassadors, forge alliances, and lead them in war; dignified maturity and social aplomb were considered as vital as claws and teeth for navigating the savage world they’d been born into. If the court could only see him now . . . but that was the point, wasn’t it? They couldn’t watch him here, and whatever atrocities Idal committed—and he’d burned through a few so far—would soon be lost to time. He need not fear judge, jury, or prosecution. If he really wanted to, he could have this female right here, right now . . . except straightforward rape was never any fun. Idal had tried that. Yawn. He found satisfaction in the chase, the seduction, the addicting mixture of adrenalin and lust that drove both him and his prey—er, partner—toward their inevitable passionate collision.

Grinning wide, the strawberry blonde male sniffed delicately at the air around Khaleesi. Her perfume, plenty delicious on its own, carried some of the mouthwatering flavor of heat, the unmistakable scent that all femmes exuded this time of year. His body responded automatically, shooting blood toward parts of his anatomy that ached to act on his amorous intentions . . . yet the feathered prince held himself back. Just as Ingmar held himself back, silent and brooding—but aroused all the same. Idal knew that look his sibling wore. Perhaps Khaleesi would not catch it, but Idal saw the dangerous fever-light burning in Ingmar’s blue lanterns, the way he licked his jowls as if catching beads of savory blood. Oh dearest girl, please play along. I don’t think we can wait much longer. Can’t you smell us? Do we not pull you in as well?

Ingmar was the first to make an advance—shocking the reddish merle so deeply Idal could only gape.

“Miss Khaleesi . . . now it is I who must be forward.” The way the cervid brute moved near Khaleesi’s opposite side wasn’t meant to be hostile; however, anyone watching from afar might worry that the two males planned to corner the she-wolf all along. Ingmar leaned in until the protruding brow tines of his antlers neatly framed the lady’s exquisite face. Blizzard blue pierced emerald green. “In our homeland, it is not uncommon for consenting adults to lay with one another when the mood strikes them. So I must ask . . . would you do us the honor of spending a pleasurable afternoon with us?”

Idal immediately leapt in, desperate not to lose her. He nuzzled brazenly into the side of her ruff, hoping she’d catch the masculine musk now pouring off his glimmering fur. “Please say yes, beautiful lady. We promise you’ll have fun.”

➸ Handsome Warrior, Cruel Prince

↝ Prince of a Distant Land | loves only himself | brother of Idal | xathira ↜