Claire must deceive a vampire prince while resisting her desire for him.
Season 1 of Fated Series
***
Nothing in my life has ever been easy. Including the mission my family has sent me on.
My sister and I have traveled to the vampire stronghold to...
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Proposer (verb) to propose
A hushed silence fell over the room, save for beating hearts and nervous breaths.
But none of them mattered to me. Not really. Not in the way she mattered.
Claire was the curling ivy inside my heart. The gravity that held me to the ground. The moon on my darkest night.
As much as I wanted to deny her hold on me, it was real.
I was beholden to her.
And right now, the woman who had captivated all my attention was topless. Her body exposed for every wagging tongue in the room to see—including my whelp of a nephew.
A possessiveness I'd never felt before consumed me, and I was powerless to stop it.
This was my mate. She was mine to protect. The need to keep her safe from everyone was...overwhelming.
Parting the sea of people standing between me and her, I removed my jacket, then settled it over her shoulders.
Claire glared up at me, and I glared down at her. Furious that she could make me feel this way.
"My lord, the point of Dépouiller isn't to put clothes on," she said, trying to sound sweet despite how angry she was with me. "It's to take them off."
I caught the scent of whiskey on her breath and recognized the hazy look in her eyes.
She was drunk, even though I'd forbidden it.
"I know how the game works," I replied, trying to maintain my head.
I didn't want to play nice in front of all these people. I wanted to rage. At her. At them. At myself.
Without breaking eye contact with Claire, I told her guests that the party was over.
The room emptied quicker than if I'd announced the chateau was on fire. Men and women tripped over themselves to get dressed and get out as quickly as possible. A flutter of robes and arms rushing out the door.
All except my nephew, who sidled up beside me, clearly intoxicated.
"We were just having a bit of fun, uncle," Tyson said, clapping a hand around my shoulders. "The journey here was painfully boring. You understand, I'm sure."
My fury was a living, breathing thing. Had Tyson been anyone else besides mon sang, my blood, he'd already be dead.
My fangs lengthened, and the shadows under my eyes darkened. "If you don't want your mother to receive your severed head in a box, boy," I said around a snarl, "I suggest you shut your mouth."
