Reign of Blood

Chapter Thirty

The werewolf so isn't growing on me.

Annaliese refused to let it happen. First of all, he was a werewolf. That was reason enough to dislike him. Werewolves were unclean, savage brutes that only thought about themselves.

Then, there was the matter of his relations. Annaliese didn't care much for the King of the werewolves, nor his family. Come to think of it, she didn't care much- at all- for werewolves in general. By that reasoning, she wasn't allowed to care about Chronos. Her reputation as a badass, independent Queen forbade it.

Then there was the matter of who he was.

The matter of Chronos.

There was no way Annaliese was starting to like this werewolf of all werewolves. He was selfish, blind and heavy-handed. Only last night he'd lobbed her over the balcony into the river that awaited below.

Anything could've happened to her on the way down, and there'd have been nothing she could do to stop it.

If her body had hit something, Annaliese would've died for good. And yet the werewolf had still lobbed her.

So no. The werewolf wasn't growing on her. But the hand slung across her body was.

That must've been it.

She missed physical contact. And it'd been such a long time since she'd felt any.

The hand strung across her body was nice. It was big, warm and tight. It made her feel safe and protected. Safe. Ha! How often did she get to feel that?

Historically, never.

Stirring, she pushed that arm away with disdain, glaring at it when it crawled right back, grabbing her by the waist once more. Snaring her to him.

The arm was possessive.

For a werewolf that couldn't decide whether he wanted a mate or not, this one was annoyingly clingy.

But he'd told her last night he'd come to a decision, even though he hadn't been able to explain it.

He said he couldn't get rid of her and that she couldn't get rid of him—which was true enough. She'd given it some thought and a large part of her didn't think she'd be able to kill him if it ever came down to that. Historically, killing had never been much of a problem for her. He said they were stuck together, whether that be the easy way or the hard way.

"What happened to not wanting a mate?"

"Changed my mind."

It wasn't enough.

Annaliese needed details. Or at least something to deduct.

"Get off," She snapped, digging her nails into his palm.

He should be grateful she'd even allowed a mutt to sleep in her bed. This hugging and cuddling was far too much. Yes, she understood that the werewolves were touchy feely creatures—but still.

In response, he dug his own nails into her stomach. When those claws dragged through her, she clenched her jaw.

"Not fun, is it Leese?"

"Release me, brute."

"We're going to have a rule for the mornings," He murmured groggily. "The Queens aren't allowed out of the bed until they give the werewolf a suitable snog. Best pucker up."

"Fuck. You."

She shoved him away with all of her might, rolling out of the way before he could make another grab for her. "And get out of my room. I might not get a choice in the night, but you have no business being here in the day."