The prince’s nostrils flared, his eyes burning. When he didn’t rise to her bait, she continued teasing him. “Maybe you didn’t do it right? I can see how you might be in need of some practice.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief, the complete contrast to Westley’s rage.
“Will one of you please tell me what happened?” Conalle cried.
“No,” Westley said shortly.
The lord slumped over dramatically. “I’m dying!”
“We can’t have Connie’s death on our hands,” she implored.
The prince’s teeth snapped shut.
“Sol, please, I haaaave to know,” Conalle whined. When Westley turned his back, Conalle winked, clearly enjoying himself.
Solveig was happy to play along. “Shall I, Prince?”
Westley stormed over, enraged, and stood towering over her. “I fucking dare you, General,” he hissed, the threat laced through his words.
Shivers curled down Solveig’s spine at his venom. When she stood to face him, her stomach clenched at his closeness, and she resisted the urge to clamp her thighs together, desperate for friction. Westley inhaled, his eyes going dark as his heightened Fae senses caught the change in her scent.
He gripped the back of her head, tangling his fingers through her hair, bringing her within an inch of his face.
Though his hold was rough, it didn’t hurt.
“Does my anger turn you on, General?” His breath washed over her. She could taste him. That pull deep within her urged her to close the distance. When his eyes flicked to her mouth, she stopped breathing.
Magic slithered over her, heightening her own awareness, his closeness demanding all her attention.
“No, Prince, revenge does,” she muttered into his lips as she leaned in, giving in to the lure. The air thickened between them and Solveig braced herself, balanced on the edge of a blade.
Noren coughed, breaking the spell as they jumped apart.
Conalle smacked Noren on the shoulder. “Why’d you interrupt?” he asked, offended.
“I don’t want to see that!” Noren exclaimed.
“Well I do,” Conalle grumbled into his food.
Westley stormed off without a look back and she couldn’t help the small smile that tugged her lips, even as her body protested the loss of his heat.
This was going to be fun.
Westleyescapedintotheforest, unable to shake the onslaught of Hoenir’s cottage. He was irritated with himself for being so irked.
It wasn’t as though anything bad had happened to him, but he hadn’t been expecting ... that.
And then Solveig had to go and tease him, fight with him, until his hard-on was throbbing painfully in his trousers. He needed relief, but there was no way to do so quietly. His thoughts trailed back to her scent—it had fogged his brain when he smelled the change in her.
Goddess save him, he would’ve taken her right there, even with Noren’s and Conalle’s presence. They could watch him worship every inch of her body.
He shook his head. The images of sinking deep inside her as he fucked her against a tree were not helping. Dropping to his knees, feeling the bite of the snow, he took off his gloves and buried his hands in the ice-cold drift, letting the frigid temperature calm the maelstrom within him.
Snow crunched beneath heavy footsteps—Noren was making his presence known.
“What the fuck happened?” his friend asked.
“Solveig gets under my skin, I can’t—”
He was saved from having to finish that sentence when Noren interrupted him. “No, not the witch. Back there, with that weird-ass male?”
