Page 11 of Bad Blood Alpha

Flynn broke the kiss and stepped back, staring at her. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, almost expecting there to be blood there.

“Who the hell are you?” he demanded. “What are you doing to me?”

She licked her lips, staring into his eyes. There were whole universes in hers, begging for him to explore them.

The silence stretched out. Finally, she said the last thing he could have possibly imagined.

“I’m Princess Kiraset Lael of the Draken House of Al-Maddeiri.” She placed her closed fist over her heart and inclined her head formally. “Your promised mate.”

The room went dead silent.

Oh, hell fucking no.

Just. No.

Flynn snarled, “I don’t know who the hell you really are, but your research sucks. The entire Draken House of Al-Maddeiri was wiped out almost twenty years ago.”

She shook her head. “I survived.”

“You’re a fucking liar. The princess is dead. I have no destined mate. And if I did, I wouldn’t fucking care. I left that world behind a long damn time ago, and I’m never going back. So you can sell your story to somebody, else, sweetheart. I’m not buying. I’m out of here.”

He backed away, infuriated, and turned to gather up his vest and his weapons.

She put a hand out. “Flynn—”

Before he could say, “Get the hell away from me,” his phone started beeping. Not a call or a text. The alert tone that told him when he was in range of some kind of signal transmitter.

Like a hidden wireless camera. Or a bug.

He yanked the phone out of his pocket and stared at it. In seconds, he had her back against the wall—but this time her arms were pinned over her head, and his forearm was at her throat.

“Where’s the transmitter? And who’s it transmitting to?” he snarled.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” He could see the genuine surprise in her face. “Now let me go.”

He gazed into her eyes, then let her go and backed off. He made a circuit of the room, scanning for the signal. The alert intensified when he got to the table—and the medical supplies.

Oh, fuck. He held the scanner over the stainless steel bowl that held the bullet. “It’s a tracer bullet,” he said. “It’s transmitting our location. We’re blown.”

Her eyes snapped wide. “We’ve got to get out of here. Now.”

Too late.

There were heavy footsteps in the hallway, and then the door splintered inward.

Hellhounds.