The Dark Throne

CHAPTER 3

Harlow

UH, shit.

Noah's face is unreadable, but he does look like he's going to launch himself at me any moment. I half-wonder if he plans on extricating me from this ceremony, by force, if necessary.

I take a step back and scan the room for the nearest exit. It's about thirty feet to my left, on the other side of about fifty people—all women, all looking at me right now. Everyone is watching as Noah steps off the platform and walks toward me.

My heartbeat kicks up about twenty notches, and my knees suddenly feel weak. I hate being the center of attention. My entire life is designed to keep me in the shadows, which is the way I like it. Everyone staring at me right now—yeah, I'm going to have nightmares about it. For sure.

Noah steps up to me, stopping about an arm's length away. His lazy gaze travels over my hips, to my very ample cleavage, before crawling up and landing on my face. I feel the blood rush to my cheeks, the heat scorching my skin.

He lifts his chin. "You."

A murmur ripples through the crowd, but I'm too horrified to take much notice. Is this guy serious? Did he just order me like a hamburger off a fast food menu?

Oh. Hell. No.

I open my mouth to respond, but before I can even squeak out a syllable, Noah pulls the necklace he's wearing over his head and places it over mine. When he does that, a waft of spicy-scented air washes over me, and goddamn, this guy smells good. I inhale against my will, taking the scent into my lungs. He releases the necklace, and I feel the weight of it around my neck, the cold round pendant falling just above my cleavage.

I glance at Talia , and she just stares back at me, wide-eyed, like she can't comprehend what's happening right now.

Yeah, girl, same.

Turning back to Noah, I blink up at him, lifting the necklace to take it off. "Um, no, thanks. I'm good."

Literal gasps trickle throughout the room, and I drop the necklace, leaving it in place around my neck. The gasps are my first clue that I've fucked up somehow, but the look that instantly flashes across Noah's face also clues me in. Shock. Annoyance. Anger. I get the feeling this guy isn't told no very often. I wonder if he even knows the meaning of the word.

His reaction is only visible on his face for a split second. An instant later, the anger on his face melts into amusement, his full lips turning up into a faint smile. Is he really amused, or is he just trying to save face in front of all these people ?

Lifting a hand, he takes my chin between his thumb and the crook of his finger. He towers over me. My curvy five-foot-six frame is nothing to his muscular six-foot-two or three, and I can't help it, I'm intimidated.

I'm frozen in place, unable to move. My heart is beating so hard, I'm afraid it might fly right out of my chest and start flopping around on the inlaid floor.

With my chin still in his grip, he looks directly into my eyes— imprisoning me with his hard stare. Then he leans in and whispers in my ear, his rough voice grating against my eardrum. "You're in my snare, Little Rabbit. I've caught you, and now you're mine."

The way he says you're mine, with that deep, gravely baritone, sends a hot ember of desire skipping down my spine. Ugh, fuck. I hate myself for that reaction. I'm no better than the rest of the hopefuls in this room,

fighting for a sliver of his attention. Excited just to get a second look from him.

What's wrong with me?