He held them out. “Take them.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Don’t you want them?”
“What do you want in return?” she asked.
“Can’t a man simply return a lady’s weapons without being accused of having an ulterior motive?”
“Maybe, but not you,” she said. “You shoved an iron nail into my leg, and my shoulder.”
He let his hand fall to his side. “Oh, that.”
“Yes. That! So you’ll excuse me if I don’t trust that you’ve come here out of altruism.”
“No, you’re right,” he said. “There is something I want.”
“What?”
“You.”
In a flash he was upon her, kissing her, rough and hungry, flooding her with a torrent. He towed her against him, dragging her into the pulsing current of his body, holding her there, drowning her in his nectar sweetness. The dizzy churn of their breath meeting, mingling, of his tongue sweeping between her lips, stole the air from her lungs and almost stole her away from her senses. The thirst inside her suddenly returned, greedy and raw. In his arms, she plunged, diving straight into the silent depths of darkness where nothing, no one, existed but them.
How easy it was to lose all rational thought to a Prince, especially this Prince. Riker had never kissed her this way. He’d never really wanted her, only been drawn to her because of what they were. But there was no doubt, as wave after wave of need washed over her, that Endreas’s desire was real. And she knew that he felt her heat flowing back into him. There was just one thing holding her back.
She ripped free and punched him in the face, knocking him flat on his back and into the mud.
He groaned, cupping his jaw.
She kicked him in the side. He grimaced and rolled over. She ripped her finger-knives from his hand and jammed them on. Pushing him onto his back once more, she straddled him, blades drawn and held up by her shoulders.
He ran his fingers lightly over his jaw, but his eyes were bright, dark as they were, and she could feel them tracing the lines of her body. He smiled.
She snapped all of her knives away, except one. Her wolf blade.
She drove it into his shoulder.
He cried out, hands locking around her waist, but he didn’t try to throw her or even resist.
Leaning over him, she let the knife retract slowly.
He bared his teeth as the blade left his body. The hot metallic tang of blood mixed with his sweet and cool scent. His eyes went hazy for a second, but then refocused, sharper than ever.
He seized her face and kissed her again, harder, biting her lip. She shoved him back. The mud splattered onto his face, clinging to his hair. He chuckled.
“You’re sick,” she said, breathless from his kiss.
“A little bit,” he admitted, still smiling, pushing his hips up against her. She held back the sound that almost escaped her, but her eyes fluttered as another aching surge ran through her.
She crushed her hand down on his wounded shoulder. He growled, starting to push back against her, until her wolf knife pressed to his throat.
“Tell me what you really want,” she said.
“I told you.”
“There’s more than that.”
“You don’t think you’re enough, Magpie?”
