He’s brutally handsome. So distractingly so, that my fingers loosen their hold, and before I can stop myself, I stroke my palm through his soft hair.
Every strand slides through my long fingers like the finest satin.
Green eyes open so fast that I flinch. Not from fear though. From being caught acting so outrageously stupid.
What is wrong with me?
And why is his hair so well-conditioned? He isn’t a wolf at all but a prized show dog fresh from the groomer.
He blinks away the confusion in his gaze, and now that I’m all but stroking his mane instead of threatening his life, he gradually corrects his stance. He takes his time turning toward me, and I can see the uncomfortable look still lingering in his eyes.
Thankfully he seems to ignore the mishap.
Thank the Goddess.
“My name’s Zilo. That’s Roman.” He points to my dearest fuck-hole friend, and Romey doesn’t so much as nod my way. “And the one who actually knows how to talk to women is Avian.” Avian’s gaze stares straight ahead, but an alluring mixture of a smile like kindness and sex pulls at his lips as he waves softly.
I don’t tell them my name. They already know it. Instead, I cling harder to the aggression in my gaze as my arms fold over my chest and I stare up at the enormous man.
Goddess, he’s like a small mountain.
“What is it you want from me, Zilo?” I can’t help the way my tongue accentuates his name.
It isn’t sexy. Why am I making it sexy?
“We’re warriors of hell.”
Interesting. The High Hell are warriors. Impressive.
“Annnd,” I drawl as if none of this is the most enthralling thing to ever happen in my meager little life. Yesterday I was baking cakes with the other women. Today, I’m holding an impromptu meeting with warriors of hell.
“Our ruler is Ravar, Prince of Hell.”
Goddess, it’s like I’ve stepped foot into a novel. Too bad this asshole has the poorest pacing I’ve ever heard.
Get. To. The. Plot. For Goddess sake, Zilo. You’re as pretty as you are dull.
“We…we wish to get rid of the Prince of Hell, Prince Ravar.”
My eyes widen, and I can’t contain the anxious, excited thrumming inside me.
Treason, you say? This is far more fascinating than baking cakes.
“You want me to help you overthrow your ruler?” My brows arch, but they cut even higher when Romeo speaks up.
“Kill.Actually. We want to kill the fucker.”
“That’s treason. If you could please watch your tongue.” Avian swipes his blind attention toward the man at his side, but Rome appears unthreatened by the warning as he gives a long and slow eye roll.
“We don’t want you to lift a finger against anyone. We simply want…” Zilo’s deep voice drowns off slightly before picking back up. “We need an insider. A beautiful distracting insider.”
The plot thickens.
“And why do you think the Prince of Hell would have any interest in me?”
“Because it’s the ten-thousandth year of his reign. Every one thousand years, he seeks out a new bride to bless him with her attention.”
“Wait just one fucking minute. You want me to marry the Prince of Hell?” My tone balances shakily on a shriek.
