3. ROSE
Three
ROSE
There is a man on my bed. There is a very large, extremely large, actually, what the hell do they feed men wherever he’s from, very alarming, very…
oh God… very hot man sitting on the edge of my bed, and I don’t know who he is or how he got here or why every single cell in my body is tingling for him.
Also? I think I’m dying.
Something is happening inside me that I have no reference for. It’s not fever heat, not sick heat, but something else entirely, something that starts low in my belly and radiates out in pulsing waves until my fingertips tingle, my toes curl and there’s a wetness between my thighs that I’ve never…
Oh God. Oh no! This is my heat!This is what they were so afraid of. This is…
Another wave hits, and I lose my train of thought in a gasp that sounds obscene even to my own ears.
The man hasn’t answered my question. He’s staring at me with an expression that I can only describe as wrecked.
Like I’ve personally reached into his chest and rearranged his internal organs.
His eyes are dark hazel, I think, gold and green and brown all mixed together, and they’re roaming my face with an intensity that should terrify me.
It doesn’t terrify me.
It makes my stomach clench in a way that is absolutely, categorically, one hundred percent not fear.
I take him in. Because even in the middle of what appears to be a biological crisis, I have eyes.
He’s enormous. With shoulders that could block a doorway, arms that strain against his shirt, a jaw carved from something harder than stone, peppered with dark stubble.
Hair, dark brown, thick, pushed back from his face, slightly too long, curling at his collar.
A scar that’s a thin white line traces from his left temple to his jaw, and instead of making him less attractive, it takes his hotness way up.
He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.
Granted, I’ve been locked in a palace for twenty-one years and then asleep for God knows how long, so my sample size is limited.
But even with unlimited options, I’m pretty sure this man would rank at the very top of the list. He’s not pretty.
He’s ruggedly handsome: massive, scarred, perfect.
The kind of face that makes you forget what you were thinking.
And his scent. Dear God, his scent. Wood-smoke, rain, leather and something dark and warm under that I want to bury my face in and never resurface. It curls into my lungs and settles there, like it’s been looking for exactly this space to fill, and my body responds without an ounce of shame.
My thighs press together. My nipples harden against the thin fabric of my nightgown.
Another rush of wetness floods between my legs and I want to die.
I actually want to die. I am having my first heat, the heat that was supposed to kill me, or trap me, or whatever the fuck the curse was supposed to do, in front of a complete stranger, and my body is reacting to him like he’s the answer to it all.
“I asked you a question,” I manage. My voice comes out rough, fucking wrecked. I barely recognize it. “Who are you? Why are you in my room? Why do I feel like…” Another wave hits me and I grit my teeth against the moan that tries to escape. “What is happening to me?”
“Easy.” His voice. Oh, My God, his voice. It’s deep and rough and steady, with a rasp at the edges that rolls down my spine like a touch of his calloused fingers. One word and my body lights up like a match. “Easy, princess. Breathe.”
“Don’t fucking tell me to breathe, I’ve been breathing for… how long have I been asleep?”
His jaw tightens. “Decades.”
The room tilts.
“Fucking decades?!”
“Yes, you’ve been under a curse. Your first heat triggered it. You fell asleep and…”
“I know about the curse!” I snap. Because yeah, I’ve known about it since I was old enough to understand why my parents never let me leave the palace, why there were never any unmated alphas at court, why my mother’s eyes went wide with fear every time someone mentioned presentations or heats or mates.
“I know about the curse, just didn’t think…
” I didn’t think it would actually happen.
Didn’t think the overprotective bubble my parents built could fail.
I didn’t think I’d wake up twenty-six years old with fucking decades of my life missing, a fucking stranger on my bed, and my body screaming for something I’ve never fucking had.
Another wave slams into me, and this time I can’t fight the sound that rips out of me.
It’s raw, fucking animal, humiliating. My back arches off the pillows.
I grip the sheets so hard that my knuckles strain.
Wetness pools under me. Slick, oh God, that’s slick, soaking through my nightgown, all over the sheets, and my face burns with mortification because this man, this stranger, can see it, can probably smell it.
I want the earth to open up and swallow me whole.
“Get out.” My voice shakes. “Please. Just go.”
He doesn’t move.
“I said get out!”
“I can’t do that, Rose.” His voice is tight. Controlled, but barely, like he’s gripping the edge of a cliff with his fingernails. “If I leave this room, the curse takes you again. My scent is the only thing keeping you awake.”
I stare at him. “Your scent?”
“I’m the one. The alpha that the fairy’s counter-curse was waiting for.” He says it like he can barely believe it himself. Like the words taste insane in his mouth. “I’m your fated mate.”
The laugh that comes out of me is fucking unhinged. “My fated… I don’t even know your name.”
“Kael.” A beat. “King of Valdemar.”
“A king.” I press my palms to my face. “Of course you’re a king. You couldn’t just be some random guy. You had to be a king.”
His lips twitch despite the wild glint in his eyes. “Would you prefer a random guy?”
“I would prefer to not be in heat in front of a stranger, but here we are!”
Something shifts in his expression. The faintest crack in that stern, controlled facade, something that looks almost like… admiration. Like my snapping at him while I’m dripping slick and barely functional is somehow the most impressive thing he’s ever witnessed.
Don’t look at me like that. Don’t you dare look at me like that.
Another wave hits me. And this one is the worst one yet.
My vision whites out. My hand shoots out and grabs his forearm by instinct, desperation, something beyond rational thought.
I get both hands on him, my fingers digging into muscle that feels like stone left in the sun.
And the contact, skin to skin, alpha to omega, sends a shock of relief through my body that’s so intense, so overwhelming, so good that a sob catches in my throat.
His pupils blow wide. Every thick, hard muscle in his body goes rigid. His carved jaw clenches so hard I can hear his teeth grind. Through the contact, I can feel his energy, his restraint, the monumental effort it’s costing him to not…
“Let go of me.” His voice is barely human. It’s low and rough, vibrating with something that makes my thighs clench and my pussy pulse. “Let go of me right now, Rose. Or I’m going to do something we can’t undo.”
I should let go, right? Whatever rational thought left in my head is screaming at me to let go. This is a stranger. A man I met sixty seconds ago. I’ve been asleep for fucking years. I don’t know him, don’t know anything about him, don’t know if he’s kind or cruel or gentle or…
His scent wraps around me. Wood-smoke, rain and mine.
Mine.
And I don’t let go.
I pull him closer.