The corner of the prince’s mouth lifts in a knowing smirk and I curse myself for the heat that pools in my belly, the traitorous want that pulses through me like a second heartbeat.
Who slipped me the drugs? This is not normal.
He reaches for my hand, his fingers grazing my wrist.
I jerk back, snatching my hand away as if burned. The contact sends a shockwave through me, a visceral reminder of the vulnerability that comes with being touched. I wrap my arms around myself and level a glare at him.
“Back up there,Prince Charming,” I say, dripping his name with all the disdain I can muster. “Are you high or just bored?”
Pretty, rich princes must do the best kind of designer drugs. Ones that make them say stupid, ridiculous things with all the confidence in the world.
Maybe the world will get lucky and break from being under his spell when his teeth go soft from the drugs and fall out.
Though knowing my luck, he’ll remain beautifully attractive and simply make the toothless look a fad.
“You should call me Kaison, or better yet, Kai. I’m not bored, and I don’t do drugs.” His tone is suddenly serious as if it’s imperative I know he means that.
Oh sure, I’ll call the Prince of the Midnight Kingdom by his first name.
Next we can braid each other’s hair and watch trashy reality mage TV shows while bingeing junk food.
Actually, I am overdue for a chill night in. . .
The prince takes a step closer to me, his proximity forcing me to drop my arms, or we’ll touch.
I don’t like being touched. Especially not by vampires.
“I need a bride. As you know, my father insists. So I figure why not give the old man what he wants.”
While Prince Charming rambles on about his outrageous proposal, I stealthily slide over to the small kitchenette cornerof the break room. I flick on a lighter and set the wick of a little orange candle aflame. In mere seconds, the spicy-sweet aroma of pumpkin apple spice wraps around me like a comforting hug.
So sonny boy wants to rebel and punish dear old daddy. I turn to face him again. “And why not give him the most unsuitable bride, eh?”
Kaison’s lips quirk up on one side, but his eyes remain untouched by the half-smile. As if he is having a very serious thought about something I just said.
“You’re perfect.” The words come out in a low husk, and I don’t like how they land in my belly and explode in a bevy of warm tingles.
Panic rises in my chest as I struggle to catch my breath and fight off the overwhelming urge to give in to him completely. Desperate for space, I shove him aside to get some air closer to the open door. He moves, but only because he wants to, not because I made him. He’d been steadily backing me up against the lockers, and I can’t think like that, all caged in.
Turning back to face him, I say, “What’s in it for me?”
With a smirk and a suggestive tone, he asks me, “What do you want?”
The Ember of Midnight.
I don’t say it out loud. I’ve said it to him once before, I won’t say it again. It’s a secret need, something I’ve tried to go without for so long, but I can’t stand it. It’s like having a piece of my soul missing.
There is no use explaining it to Prince Kaison Charming. If he has a soul, it’s been spoiled under riches, wild sex, and privilege.
I learned a long time ago to not make myself vulnerable in front of others. Especially not anyone from Midnight. Bloodsuckers can’t be trusted.
Instead of repeating what I went to the Midnight realm for, I ask about the other thing that has been ripping at the inside ofmy brain since he said it. “What makes you think my father was murdered?”
Kaison’s hands slip into his pockets. “Toward the end, your father had a contentious relationship with my father, that much was no secret. It's the stuff of palace intrigue and whispers in dark corridors.” He leans back against the lockers, his gaze direct, unflinching. “But the night before he was found. . .” he trails off.
Dead.
I don’t know why he thinks he needs to protect me from the word.
