He hoped.
“Maybe if my mate wasn’t being attacked or promised to someone else every five seconds, I wouldn’t be an asshole.” He took a step towards her.
Solveig threw her hands in the air. “I didn’t know you were my mate! What good would it have done?”
“It would have done plenty of good. I would have strangled whoever attempted to kill you.”
“You would have murdered the Queen of Alfheim and then where would we have been?”
That pulled him up short. “You knew?”
“I guessed, but based on your reaction, I was right.”
“Just because it was a queen who tried to kill you doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have enjoyed spilling every last drop of her blood.”
“She didn’t try to kill me, and you know it. You would have felt it through the bond if that was the case.”
At her mention of the bond, it flared to life in Westley’s chest. Solveig let out a soft gasp, her hand flying up to her heart at the same moment he felt the pull towards her. She took a step back and he growled.
“You flinch away from me?” he asked, though he didn’t sense fear in her.
The opposite.
Her own excitement and need crossed over to him. He groaned, his pants causing him pain as they filled with his cock.
“You forget one thing, West,” she said, her voice husky and low.
“What’s that?” He took another step towards her, forcing her to retreat again until she was trapped between him and the wall. She sucked in a breath as he pressed her against the cold window.
He stood a hair’s breadth from her, his senses overwhelmed with everything that stood before him—his entire life, his soul.
“You have a penance to pay,” she whispered.
“I do?” He reached up and laced his fingers through her hair, gripping tightly, pulling her face close to his.
She nodded and swallowed. Westley tracked the movement of her slender neck, canines lengthening, aching.
“And how am I to pay?” he growled, revelling in the warmth of her skin through the thin robe.
“Beg, Prince.”
He leaned close enough to taste the breath sighing from her tempting mouth. His lips tingled with anticipation, already begging. But he needed to know something first.
“Are you still marrying him?”
She searched his face. Westley thought her hesitation would fuel his anger, but tears pricked his eyes instead as despair washed over him. His chest heaved as he waited for the inevitable blow. Seconds ticked by. Hours. Months.
And then she answered.
“No.”
He claimed her mouth, tasting her, pulling her flush against him.
Goddess, his memory did not do her justice. She fit into him perfectly. His mate. Everything that he was belonged to her, and he’d be damned now if he ever let her go again.
“Cruel witch,” he breathed when they parted for air.
Her smile was bright, and he was struck by the sight of it.
