“You were informed I would arrive. If you chose not to prepare, that’s on you. Now, did I just hear you ask your chef to make something your prisoner will like?”
I gulp.
“I know this pack isn’t used to having prisoners...” He wipes a finger on a shelf beside him, inspects the dust and frowns his disapproval. “But you should know, typically, we don’t take food orders from them.”
The kitchen staff asked the same question, which is why I’m prepared to respond. “You do if you want them to stay alive,” I reply.
“Alive?” King Dax scrunches his nose and parrots the word like he doesn’t understand. “What fun is that?”
Of coursethe king of torture wouldn’t understand such a concept.
“I need information from her. It would be pretty hard to extract it from her if she’s dead.”
“Extract”was a word Dax did understand. I regret saying it when a predatorial grin emerges on his face. I roll out my neck to ease the tension stemming from my wolf’s urge to protect.
She is not worth dying over.
Take that back.My wolf shifts his protective demeanor to one of aggression toward me.
I want to argue, but this is not the time.
“What kind of information?”
“Information pertaining to the death of my father.”
When I provided this intel to my staff, out of respect for my late father, they didn’t pry. Unlike the king, who, judging by the grin plastered to his face like the Grinch, I’ve only enticed him further.
“So you’re seeking revenge? I’m intrigued. What kind of methods have you implemented? Physical, mental, psychological? Ooh, ooh! Medieval?” He grins, wiggling his brows.
Even his body language changes from closed to open. He is invested in her, and it terrifies me.
“Well, I stabbed her. So, aside from physical, my methods have mainly been psychological.”
Which is true. Burning her photo broke something in her.
“You know...” The king stretches, then makes the same sound I make after taking a sip of a beer. “Ah. I had a long run getting here. Come on.” He nods in the direction of the dungeon. “I’ll show you how to draw out pain as long as possible.” He pivots in the direction of the dungeon.
I panic. “No!”
A dominant aura emits from him in strong waves, and my wolf instantly bares its neck to submit to our hybrid king.
Shit.
At six-foot five and solid muscle, I’m big. But at six-foot seven, just as built, he towers over me as he steps closer.
With glowing hybrid-maroon eyes, he parrots my reactive statement, ensuring he heard me correctly. “No?”
I backpedal.Hard.“No . . . that . . . won’t be necessary.”
This king is reading me like a book.
He narrows his eyes. “You are protecting her... Why?”
Anddd this is why the people fear their king.There is no lying to him. He’ll sniff out the truth. There’s no running, no hiding, and no pivoting from the conversation, which is why I don’t skirt around the topic. “She’s... my mate.”
“A mutt fated to a mutt.” He laughs. “How fitting. Who else knows?”
“Just you.”
