Page 3 of Knotting Sleeping Beauty

I approach the thorn wall. Up close, the barbs glisten with something wet. Poison, if the reports are accurate. Because why the fuck not? Let’s add poison to the cursed thorns around the enchanted tower containing the sleeping omega princess. Really commit to this shit.

Hundreds of alphas have tried this. Strong alphas, powerful ones. Males who’ve conquered cities and commanded armies. They all walked in and stumbled back out, overwhelmed by a scent so potent it turned their brains to static.

I have no reason to believe I’ll be any different. I’m not that special. Just stubborn, single, and mildly afraid of my mother.

I reach for the thorns.

And they fucking part.

Not with some dramatic music and a beam of golden light. They just… move. The barbs retract. The branches curl away from my hands like I’ve spoken a magic word I didn’t know I had in me. And behind them, a path opens. Narrow, dark, leading to the base of the tower.

Behind me, Ronan whispers, “Holy shit.”

Jace makes a sound that might be a whimper.

“Stay here,” I tell them.

“My King, with all due respect…”

“Stay. Here. Both of you.”

I step through.

The thorns close behind me, and the world goes quiet.

The air inside is different. Thick. Warm. Like stepping into a room where someone’s been sleeping for a very long time, I suppose. And there’s a scent. Faint at first. A hint of something. But with every step I climb up the spiral staircase, it builds. Gets richer, deeper, and more complex. Sweet. Warm. Something golden under, honey maybe, or sun-warmed skin. And threaded through all of it, a current of heat that hits me right at the base of the spine and tugs.

What the…

My heart rate spikes. Not from the stairs, I’ve climbed mountains higher than this. From something else. Something I don’t recognize, something that feels like the ground shifting under my feet. My hands tingle. My jaw tightens. There’s a low hum building in my chest that I’ve never felt before, and my rut, dormant for years, so quiet I’d almost forgotten what it felt like, stirs.

Not now! Not here! What the fuck is happening?!

I reach the top and find a wooden door, ancient, heavy, slightly ajar. Light spills through the crack: golden, dim, the color of late afternoon in a room with the curtains half-drawn.

I push the door open.

And the world as I know it ceases to exist.

She’s on the bed.

Fuck. Me.

Her dark curls are fanned across the pillow like they were arranged by someone who gives a shit. Her skin is fucking perfect, deep brown, flawless after all this time. Her full lips are slightly parted. And long, thick lashes fan cheekbones that could cut a man’s heart out and he’d thank her for it.

She’s wearing a thin white nightgown. Almost translucent in the low light. And under it, curves that make my vision go sideways. Full tits rising and falling with each slow breath. The dip of a waist that flares into hips built for, don’t go there, don’t you fucking go there…

I’m fucking going there.

She’s goddamn magnificent. Years asleep and she looks like she was hand-crafted to destroy a man’s self-control. There isn’t a sculptor alive who could do justice to the shape of her body under that paper-thin gown, and I need to stop staring and start functioning like a rational human being.

I cannot stop staring.

Her scent.

It’s everywhere. Filling the room. Layered so thick I can taste it on my tongue. It’s not the overwhelming assault the other alphas described; it’s not scrambling my brain, or driving me to my knees. It’s doing something worse.

It’s calling me.