Chapter Fourteen
THE NIGHT KING
My beast is fucking feral.
All he wants to do is to rut, to breed, to claim.
But try telling a very insistent, primitive part of yourself that his soul-fated mate is off-limits, especially when he has caught the starsdamned perfect scent of her.
A mate bond is divine, a treasure to be guarded and cherished, and in any other circumstance, it would be.
Though not for me . . . because of this fucking curse.
The creature will rip her delicate mortal form to shreds.
He roars his displeasure every hour of every day, nearly tearing from my skin and battering my iron sway of him, but as long as I stay in control of my emotions, I remain in control of my body. I remain in control of him.
And for all our sakes, if the realm is to endure, I have no choice but to resist his most primal instincts—to keep chaos deeply buried. I have been here before and know the cost.
She is our downfall.
I must reject the bond . . . or one of us will die.