Page 24 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

I shake my head, my rising panic disorienting me.

He rocks his hips, slow and deliberate, dragging his hardness up my thigh—too close.

And then, before I can stop it, heat answers low in my core, a slow, traitorous burn I was not expecting.

I give a strained gasp.

The sound snaps me out of my daze.

“Ffghhh!” I scream, the garbled curse tearing out of me as I jerk out of his hold and scramble back, collapsing in the seat opposite, my chest heaving.

He remains sitting, watching me calmly. “No? Pity.”

My thoughts begin to fray as I huddle as far away from him as the seat allows, my jaw throbbing. My pride is fraying too.

All the while, the carriage keeps moving past the same trees. The same road. Round and round in circles.

Nathaniel simply sits and watches. Waiting.

I realise I’m waiting too—waiting for someone to intervene. For him to relent. For me to wake up and realise this is all some terrible dream, and I’m back in my bed in the mountain safehouse, a place that had just started to feel like home—or better yet, back in Nordokk, sharpening my knives and preparing to set out on a new mission.

That is who I am. Kira. A respected member of the Resistance.

Not this—a person teetering on the edge of the unthinkable.

The seventh time we pass the log, a part of me shrivels with despair. This won’t end. Not unless I end it.

My gaze drops to the floor where he told me to kneel.

Am I actually considering this?

I glance at him, sitting relaxed and composed opposite me. One ankle is resting over his knee again. Every now and then, he picks at his food, as if out of habit more than hunger. He takes a sip of wine. Then another.

His goblet never empties. I think he’s only pretending to drink now. And he almost never breaks his stare. That, more than anything, is a sign that I’ve already lost whatever battle I was still fighting.

The hunger. The restraints. Him. It’s all wearing me down. Worse, I keep imagining myself kneeling, my mind rationalising it. How much easier it will be. He won’t remove the gag until I stop resisting him, after all. Won’t let this carriage ride end until I obey. He’s made that painfully clear.

“You look tired,” he murmurs. “It’s no wonder. You’ve done so well. It really is quite impressive. But why prolong the inevitable? Come. Kneel. Then it will be over, and you can rest.”

The words settle into me, heavy and warm.

Rest.

The promise echoes in my mind, no longer sounding like his voice, but mine.

So this is what they meant by vampires’ persuasion. Not true compulsion. It’s a natural gift, subtler and more insidious, born of shrewdness, intelligence, and charm.

Byron swore vampires couldn’t truly compel anyone, but what Nathaniel’s doing now—his gentle words creeping into my mind to reshape my thoughts—feels close enough.

A surreal moment arrives where I slide off the seat before I’ve quite realised I’ve made the decision to do so.

It’s a moment where I think there must be a mistake.

Because this is something I would never, ever do.

And yet, slowly, I lower myself, my knees meeting the hard floor.

Nathaniel’s pupils flare, but he says nothing as I settle. I may as well be buried deep underground for how swiftly hopelessness closes in, my thoughts damp and airless around me.