The Leopard King (16 page)

For the first hour, he greeted the arriving guests in a formal reception line, along with Magda, Caio, and Slay. Pru played her role to perfection, offering a smile or a friendly word, even for the visiting guards stationed along the walls in an impressive display of martial prowess. Since they weren’t allowed to drink on duty, Pru kept them supplied with a steady stream of sparkling water and fresh juice. More than once, he noticed an overly interested gaze following her movements around the room.

Dinner can’t be served soon enough.

At least when everyone took their assigned seats, Pru was next to Dom as a matter of course, but she had Prince Alastor on her other side. The Golgoth asshole touched her five times—arm, hand, shoulder, hand, arm—Dom knew, because he was counting. None of it was brazen enough to constitute an offense, but he still felt like taking Alastor’s head off. Beneath the table, he curled his left hand into a fist as Pru’s cousin, Joss, took the stage, a gilded lily in a gold dress. Her performance wasn’t meant to inhibit conversation, but when she started the song, competing voices fell silent one by one.

Dom flashed a startled look at Pru, who offered a smug smile. “Told you she’s good.”

“A mere word like ‘good’ does her a disservice,” the Golgoth prince whispered.

Though he didn’t know much about music, Dom had to agree with him. Joss had a mournful, sultry sound that riveted pretty much every listener in the hall. When she finished, thunderous applause rang out. Her smile flirted with the whole room as she began the next number, this one more upbeat and joyous.

He leaned over to ask Pru softly, “Did you arrange this?”

“Of course. You put me in charge of entertainment, and Joss thrives in the spotlight. The orchestra will play after her set. Dinner should be done by then, and there will be dancing.”

“I hope you’ll honor me,” Alastor said.

Pru accepted the offer before Dom could shut that shit down. Diplomacy was
not
supposed to include watching other men handle his woman. To keep from objecting, he clenched his jaw so hard he could barely eat any of the food on his plate. Halfway through the meal, Beren managed to start a conversation that didn’t make him want to crawl out of his skin. With liberal applications of wine, he thought he might survive.

Until the dancing started.

Prince Alastor rose with a flourish and offered his hand to Pru. Watching her go off with the pride’s greatest enemy, Dom felt ten kinds of complicated. In his head, he heard battle cries, a thousand dead warriors protesting that pale hand on the curve of her waist.

Slay came up behind him to snarl, “You’re letting that happen?”

“Keep smiling. Ask one of the Golgoth ladies to dance.”

His second showed teeth but did as he was told. Likewise, Dom made nice, circulating to partner pride mates and visitors alike. Pru proved popular, and he barely saw her for the next hour as she circled the floor multiple times with Alastor, Beren, Raff, and even Talfayen himself. If that red-eyed Noxblade made a move, Dom would probably start a brawl.

“You’re staring a strip off her,” Magda muttered as they twirled. “Relax, she knows what she’s doing. And everything’s proceeding well so far. She’s gathering good intel.”

Apart from minor dustups between guard forces, the banquet
had
gone better than expected. Pru had worked wonders on the seating chart, lacing pride members and esteemed guests, separating those who were likely to conflict. And now everyone had drunk enough to find each other amusing. Over the security chief’s shoulder, he saw the Noxblade—Gavriel, he thought Pru had said—dancing with Joss.

Under the best of circumstances, he didn’t enjoy formal events. Tonight resonated with a special sort of torture, however, because he kept waiting for someone to keel over with poison in their drink.
I’m looking at you, Eldritch.
Historically, the Golgoth tended to be brutal, so he was also alert for the shimmer of a blade. Everyone had been scanned for weapons as they entered the hold, but there were always methods to smuggle them inside.

Or they could be ceramic or composite—

No, it’s going well.

Several hours in, Dom settled at a table with Beren and Raff, letting people come to him. Pru was still dancing, and it rankled that he hadn’t partnered her even once.
You assholes know she’s mine, right?
Trying not to look as pissed as he felt, he started a card game, dealing in the wolf and bear lords. Eventually Magda joined, along with two Golgoth, and an Eldritch guard.

Two hands, three. He won one, lost two. It seemed like forever before his mate came to check on him. With her, she brought a whisper of sweat, other males, and a dying echo of her goat milk soap. It took all his control to focus on his hand instead of dragging her off to scrub her down, so she only smelled of him.

Smiling, she leaned in to inspect his cards. “Discard that one.”

And then she dragged her nails down his back.

A
t first Pru
feared she’d gone too far. Too bold, too wicked, and in front of all these people too. Dom had been glaring like a thundercloud all night, and gambling didn’t seem to have cheered him any.

Maybe I can pretend I forgot what that signal means.

But then he rose from the table in a smooth motion, his face artfully blank, yet she read the lambent shine of his eyes. “I fold,” he said, tossing his cards.

In a casual motion, he leaned down and kissed her neck.
That’s a definite yes.
A covert thrill spiraled through her.
Nobody suspects a thing.

“Now I’ll never know if you were bluffing,” Raff mumbled.

His cheeks held a high color, perceptible even above his well-groomed beard. Normally, the wolf lord could hold his drink, but Pru had no clue how much he’d already imbibed. Beren threw down his hand with a disgusted grumble while an Eldritch raised and Slay took more cards. It seemed that the game would continue without Dom.

He wrapped an arm about her waist, distracting her from anything besides his touch. “If you gentlemen don’t mind, and even if you do, I’m dancing with my beautiful wife.”

Wife.
He’d never said that word before, at least not in conjunction with her, and a pit that was equal measure dread and yearning opened in her stomach. They hadn’t spoken formal vows, only made a desperate deal on the mountain. Yet she took his hand when he offered, and the dancers actually made room for them on the floor, as if together, they radiated some kind of undeniable magic.
Like Dalena and Dom.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said. “I’m probably rusty.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Around them, the music swelled, and none of it felt quite real when he drew her in. Though she’d danced with so many partners she’d lost count tonight, somehow this was the only song that mattered. His hand glowed with pure heat when it settled on her waist, and when he swung her into the first turn, Pru let out a little gasp. Her feet nearly left the floor.

“Warned you,” he whispered.

She couldn’t take her eyes off his face. This party weighed with every bit as much importance as it ever had, but the nuances faded until she couldn’t read them. If someone was plotting on the perimeter, they would succeed with their clandestine agenda. In this moment, there were only his eyes, his hands, and his mouth. Pru had never known the world to disappear… until right then.

As if the musicians sensed what was unfolding, they changed the tempo for the next number, slow and sultry with the sweet wail of horns. He drew her even closer, so each step felt like foreplay. His thighs brushed hers, his chest, and then he tilted his head to hers. Ostensibly they were dancing cheek to cheek, but the rasp of his breath and the scrape of his whiskers against her jaw felt wicked as sin. She had never been more conscious of the heat and strength of him, and she couldn’t resist the urge to wrap her arms fully about his neck.

“I’m one heartbeat away from taking you on a table. Do you think we can slip away?” His tone was so matter of fact that Pru couldn’t believe she’d heard him right, but the simmer in his gaze confirmed the question.

She cleared her throat. “We should say our farewells to our guests of honor—”

“Fuck that,” he growled. “Talfayen is gone already, Alastor is dancing with Joss, both Raff and Beren are dead drunk.”

“Then let’s sneak off.” For once, she’d throw caution to the wind. What were the chances that anything awful would happen, just because she pretended her name wasn’t Prudence?

“Finally some good news. You know how tired I am of watching other men touch you?”

“Is this a trick question?” she teased, towing him toward the exit.

They almost made it all the way out of the building, but Magda stopped them in the corridor. “Is this wise?”

Dom shrugged. “Don’t care. I feel like we’ve given fair entertainment value. You and Slay take over.”

The security chief sighed, but she didn’t argue. “Understood.”

After that, he pulled Pru away from the event hall, out into the chilly night air. She half-expected him to toss her over one shoulder—and she wouldn’t have minded—but instead he spun her to him, cupped her face in his hands, and went for her mouth like her kiss could keep him from dying of thirst. With his whole body, he backed her up, until she hit the chilly stone wall, and Dom kept coming, sealing them together like missing pieces of a puzzle.

Moaning softly, she parted her lips, and the minute their tongues touched, he made such a hungry sound that her toes curled in her fancy shoes. Dom stole her breath again and again, his mouth wild on hers, her cheeks, jaw, throat, back and forth. Countless moments later, she realized they were rocking together, his hands on her ass, skirt rucked up so anyone could see.

“Dom,” she panted.

“That’s good.” He seemed one kiss away from opening his pants.

“N-not here.” The caress nearly stole the last of her common sense, as he delved between them, into her panties.

“You’re so wet. Driving me crazy.”

Two or three strokes from coming, Pru whimpered as she tore away.
We can’t do this here.
But a good portion of her wanted to, and she didn’t care who might be watching or listening. Calling on the last of her discretion, she quelled those urges, broke free, and stumbled a few steps away. Her mouth felt soft and swollen, and Dom’s gaze scorched like lightning raking over her. Tousled hair, rumpled dress, kiss-stung lips—she’d never felt so sexy in her life.

“Don’t run,” he warned.

On wobbly knees, she did exactly that.

From behind, he let out a growl that might have worried her, if she hadn’t been so busy giggling and dodging him. He nearly caught her in the stairwell, but she took off her heels and chucked them at him, and then she raced him to the apartment, wildly positive this was only making him hotter. It wasn’t that she actually wanted to escape, just delay long enough that they wouldn’t ruin the conclave with a mating-frenzy scandal.

She made it all the way to the bedroom, and then he was on her, hand on her neck, pressing her into the mattress. Dom came down on top of her from behind, his breath coming in great gasps. Her heart thundered with excitement that was minutely spiced with alarm. Pru had never guessed he could get so out of control, never imagined it was even possible. He yanked her skirt up and tore her panties clean off; the ferocity sent a shiver through her, and she lifted her ass, just a little, sending the silent message that it wasn’t too much or too far. That earned a grunt of pleasure and two hard thrusts, his hard cock gliding between her slick lips. Then he added fingers as he circled his hips, fucking into her harder with each touch.

“You…” Stroke. “Are…” Stroke. “Mine. Say it.”

It was all she could do to get a breath for the wrenching pleasure, let alone speak. But she got, “Yours. Only yours,” out around a guttural cry.

“Pru… Don’t run, understand? I can’t—” But whatever he might’ve said was lost in a shudder and a moan.

Driving into her from behind, Dom fastened his teeth on her shoulder, hard enough to bruise. The slight pain didn’t hinder the spikes of sensation from his cock working inside her and the fingertips strumming her clit. She rocked back on him, not thinking of anything but the perfect angle. Pru huffed out an incoherent demand when she found it, and he steadied her hips with one hand.

“I’m coming.” Not that she needed to tell him.

From the frantic increase of his thrusts, he felt it, and he held her down until his hands hurt her a little, and his teeth sank in. Dom shook and pushed and came, all liquid heat inside her. Pru felt it on her ass, on her thighs, and her entire body went boneless. Afterward Dom’s breaths sounded almost like sobs, and when she tried to turn over, he held her closer and wouldn’t let go. If she hadn’t been so physically blasted, she would’ve pushed for a kiss.

“You okay?” she asked dreamily. “I’ve never seen you like that.”

In answer, he grazed her jaw with his lips. He didn’t roll over. He didn’t pull away.

In the morning, she woke early and found him already gone.

Last night, what
the hell was that?
Dom wouldn’t have said he had a plan for his relationship with Pru, but it shook him when he realized how
much
he wanted her, how crazy she could make him. He’d never chased a woman down and fucked her like some nonverbal sex beast. Sick to his stomach, he wasn’t entirely sure he would’ve heard or stopped even if she’d asked him to, and that was so far past okay—and well into terrifying—that he didn’t know if he could find his way back with a map and compass.

For a long moment, he saw again the imprint of his hands and teeth on her body, marks and bruises he’d left. It wasn’t supposed to be that intense. If he could’ve predicted, he would have guessed that their relationship would be warm and comfortable, like a pair of cozy slippers. Not… this, whatever it was. Wanting her this much bothered him on multiple levels.

He was far too rattled to face their guests, and it was too early besides. At first he didn’t know where he was going until his steps turned toward the greenhouse. Inside, the hot, humid air came as a shock after the crisp cold outdoors. Arran was working with the orchids, and though Dom didn’t really want to make small talk, it would be rude to bypass the pride seer without a word. Plus, Arran always saw too much, so he shouldn’t give him a reason to analyze.