To Rule the Alpha's Heart

20. A Dangerous Game

CALLA VORONÍN

Calla shivered. Einarr's words were an ominous promise, and heat simmered behind his menacing gray gaze. In that moment, there was no doubt in Calla's mind that the Alpha truly would tear apart any poor soul that dared to disrespect her, and the realization simultaneously frightened and thrilled her.

After their encounter the night before, Calla worried that she'd lost Einarr's favor. It relieved her to know that the male's devotion remained strong. She didn't think she would survive on Nortend without it...

"What does that mean?" Calla breathed, lifting a pale hand to stroke the loose waves that fell across Einarr's shoulders. "Dreki-hjar?"

Again, one corner of Einarr's lips curled, revealing a sliver of white teeth. His eyes followed her hand as her fingers wove into his free locks. "It means dragonheart."

Heat crept up Calla's neck at the affection underlying Einarr's voice, and she felt the unrelenting urge to wrap her arms around his thick neck and draw him onto the bed beside her. Somehow, she refrained. Einarr did not often embrace her, and Calla half-worried that she would earn the Alpha's ire if she tried to hold him.

Once, when she was gathering seashells on the beach at the age of fourteen, she'd stumbled upon a young couple tangled in one another's arms. They became a mess of sand and skin, their bodies bumping and undulating against the other in a passionate rhythm. That was Calla's first and only glimpse into Eatrelan marital relations, and it starkly contrasted her intimate relations with Einarr. 

Even when their bodies joined, Einarr mounted her from behind, filled her with his climax, then promptly separated their bodies. He did not press his mouth to hers nor hold her trembling body afterward. Calla guessed that the Nortend shifters preferred to copulate like their wolven ancestors, and she did not have the courage nor experience to attempt any other method.

Calla's hand trailed from Einarr's hair to his chest, her fingertips tracing the impossibly warm flesh above his heart.

"Is it desirable?" she whispered, referring to the title he'd given her.

"It is dangerous," Einarr answered, brusk. His chest expanded and contracted beneath Calla's fingers at a faster rate.

One of his hands held the edge of the bed, while the other moved to mimic Calla's touch. He began by lacing his large fingers through her white-blonde waves, but he seemed to quickly grow disinterested in her hair. His hand cupped her cheek, then slowly traced the tendons down her neck.

Calla lost the ability to breathe as Einarr's fingers grazed her prominent collarbone.

"It is dangerous," he continued, "for such a frail body to possess a dragon's spirit. You should not spit fire at anyone besides me, marana, else I shall be forced to answer for your disrespect."

Einarr's hand returned to Calla's face, taking hold of her chin and forcing her to meet his gaze. Even if Calla wanted to look away from the man, she couldn't move her head without his strong fingers causing pain.

Despite the heat in his gaze, Einarr's words were stern, as if he were chastising an unruly child.

Calla frowned, unblinking.

"If my spirit burdens you so, I wonder why you did not leave me with the Alpha King?" she taunted, feigning ignorance. She played a very dangerous game.

As soon as the words slipped from her lips, Einarr's shoulder stiffened beneath her hand. His fingers began to shake as his hold on her jaw tightened, and the sensation bordered on pain. Calla still did not try to pull away.