Page 206 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

My beautiful, clever wolf.

Such a wild, stubborn beauty.

The decision comes with startling clarity. I want to finish inside her. Deep. I want every last drop where no other man has ever been.

“I hope you’re ready,” I pant against her throat. “I’m going to fill you.”

She makes a faint sound beneath me.

“You’re going to take my seed like a good girl.”

My hips snap harder. My arm locks tighter. I suck deeper at her throat and chase the exact angle that makes her moan the loudest. Soon even those sounds fade. There is only the wet slap of my body taking hers, the pull of her blood, and the relentless drive towards my own end.

When my climax finally rips through me it is violent. My hips jerk helplessly as pleasure crashes over me in long, shuddering waves.

I give one last thrust, the heat and tightness of her body drawing out my release until I am trembling above her, my mouth still sealed to her throat, completely wrecked by how good she feels.

I stay buried in her, spilling every last drop inside her, still drinking, still grinding through the pulses that shake me.

Nothing exists beyond her warmth. It’s bliss. My thoughts have gone pleasantly soft around the edges, muddled by pleasure and blood, and something dangerously close to tenderness slips through before I can stop it. Foolish things. Words that belong in declarations, not attics. Promises I have no business wanting to make. I have the absurd urge to whisper them against her skin anyway.

Only when the last pulse fades do I realise two things at once.

She did not come a second time, and she has gone completely still.

I wrench my mouth from her throat. Blood streaks her neck and my lips. Her pulse is there—but weak. Far too weak.

“Kira,” I gasp thickly.

I am still lying over her, still buried inside her, my weight pinning her to the floorboards. She lies completely limp beneath me, unresponsive. I push myself up and shake her shoulder, then turn her face towards me.

“Kira!”

Chapter 32

Nathaniel

Precious seconds were wasted dragging my trousers into place, fastening what I could of her clothes and wrapping her in my coat. More precious seconds staring at the red trickling down her throat while my mind refused to understand what my eyes could already see.

Now, there is only the fragile pulse beneath my fingertips and the horror of what I’ve done as I race through the corridors with her cradled against my chest.

I dare not go faster, every stride jostling her limp body, her head lolling over my arm to expose the bloodied wounds at her throat. I press two fingers beneath her jaw again, searching desperately for the fading rhythm.

There.

Still there.

“Kira.” My voice comes out ragged. “Stay with me.”

The Poplarins have not gone far. They linger at the end of the passage beneath the weak red torchlight, clustered together at what they must consider a safe distance. I had expected them to flee entirely. Perhaps some scrap of loyalty kept them here after all.

Mark stands among them with one shoulder hanging at an unnatural angle. Chelsea is beside him, white-faced.

All of them look at Kira.

At the blood staining her throat.

At the way her head hangs lifelessly.