Page 12 of Wolf Duke

King Alaric closed his eyes briefly, then strode forward, his big hands tearing at the buttons fastening his doublet. After shaking the garment out, he draped it around her shoulders, cocooning her in fur-lined warmth and his heady scent. “Here.”

With a happy sigh, Evaine pulled it closer around her, rubbing her cheek against the soft collar. The doublet was far too big, reaching below her knees, but it was so comforting to wear that she might never take it off. “It’s lovely. Thank you.”

“Your hair is caught, princess. Do not move,” he growled, before deftly freeing a heavy lock snagged on the embroidery just under the collar.

But as his fingers grazed her shoulder, Evaine gasped at the jolt of sensation.

Yes. Touch me. Touch me everywhere.

“Your Grace,” she said beseechingly, moving restlessly up onto her knees.

He flinched. “Don’t call me that.”

Evaine’s brow furrowed. “Your Grace” was how a dignitary correctly addressed the ruler of another kingdom; it was only “My King” or “My Queen” in their own realm. “Forgive me. What do you prefer? Sire? Master?”

His golden eyes glittered, and that strange ache between her legs became an unbearable pulsing throb. Goddess, she wanted to touch herself. Lie on her soft cushions in front of the fireplace and just stroke that wet, sensitive place until…

Until what?

King Alaric rubbed his bearded jaw, then marched over to the library window and rested his hands on the stone wall before pressing his forehead to the glass, putting at least ten feet between them. Unaccountably, the sudden distance felt like a physical blow, and a soft whine of unhappiness escaped her throat before she could halt it.

“Damn it,” he snarled, slapping his palm against the stone. “She’s wrong. My mother is wrong. ’Tis no more than wishful thinking. Perhaps you don’t know this, princess, but I was mated. Queen Theda died in a fall last summer. She tripped on her gown hem, tumbled awkwardly down some stairs, and broke her neck. I was mated. Do you understand? My chance at love and passion, at being happy, at fathering cubs is gone.”

Evaine could only stare. While she knew the information to be true—Blanche had mentioned the late queen—every part of her rejected it. “I mourn your loss.”

“Do not pity me,” said the king grimly. “I failed to keep my mate safe. To keep her content in my bed. Far worse, I was unbroken by her passing. So if you think I am some sort of noble hero, you are very much mistaken. I will remain a lone wolf, as Leto decrees, for being naught but ice.”

“Ice?” The incredulous word burst from her lips, far beyond the realm of caution or courtesy. “How can you think you are ice, Alaric, when all I see in your eyes is fire?”

Oh no.

Evaine groaned inwardly. For the first time in many, many years, she had allowed her boldness free rein, and instead of following protocol, she had called the King of the Western Lands by his given name. And said something highly inappropriate.

“Forgive me,” she said contritely. “I spoke out of turn.”

Oddly, the king did not turn to face her. “Go now.”

“But—”

“Leave.”

Every instinct she possessed insisted the command be ignored. Yet clearly she’d tried the king’s patience enough this day, so Evaine hastily bobbed a curtsy, gathered his doublet tightly around her body, and hurried from the library.

She would make this right. Somehow.

Chapter

Three

How can you think you are ice, Alaric, when all I see in your eyes is fire?

For the entire day, Princess Evaine’s words had spun around in his mind. Well, that and a scene that would remain permanently lodged there: her lying naked before him.

Alaric’s fists clenched as he stood in front of his bedchamber looking glass, Wesley brushing the back of his gold-embroidered cream doublet, to ensure it was spotless for tonight’s banquet.

Evaine was the most beautiful woman in creation. Fair hair like sunshine, creamy skin, huge green eyes with thick black lashes, and rosy lips begging to be kissed. It had physically hurt to see her too-slender frame, to know she’d been forced to hide and starve just to live. But that hadn’t halted a fierce wave of lust; his mouth had watered to taste those jutting pink nipples, to part the blond bush between her thighs and feast until she’d screamed herself hoarse and drenched his tongue in sweet cunt honey. Draping his doublet around her so she wouldn’t be cold had been as natural as breathing. Really, Evaine should only wear clothing provided by him, although he’d known a moment of pure alarm that his doublet might be unworthy. Nothing but the finest of silks and velvets, the costliest of jewels, the softest, most supple leather shoes could adorn such loveliness.

Stop. Evaine is not for you. Theda was your fated mate and she is dead. This scent you smell, the raging lust…it’s just your mind playing tricks after staying at the human court and will soon be gone.