To Rule the Alpha's Heart

20. A Dangerous Game

"The Alpha King would only break your spirit, marana."

He abruptly released his hold on Calla's chin and stood from his kneeling position at the foot of the bed. Einarr's fingers curled and uncurled into fists at his side as he started toward the tent's entrance.

Calla's eyes widened. Fierce surprise and dissatisfaction gripped her throat even as heat pooled between her legs. She nearly lurched forward to wrap a hand around Einarr's fleeting wrist, if only to keep him by her side for a moment longer. She hadn't intended for Einarr to storm out of the tent!

Desperate, she called after him. "Perhaps he would! Perhaps I would want him to..."

Einarr stopped in his tracks, and every powerful muscle lining his spine stiffened. Calla knew that her words had met their mark...

Her heart accelerated, pumping adrenaline throughout her body as she teetered on the edge of excitement and fear. She watched carefully as Einarr's fists began to tremble, but he still did not turn to face her. He possessed far more restraint than Calla anticipated.

She took a deep breath and forced her features into a mask of indifference.

"I wonder..." she began, her voice slow and deceptively calm. With movements like molasses, Calla stood from the bed and walked closer to Einarr's stiff body. "What pleasure might I receive at the hands of a King?"

For a moment, everything went still.

Then, with alarming speed, Einarr turned, intercepting Calla before she could possibly reach him on her own. She might've screamed, but the male's harsh movements knocked the wind from her lungs. One moment, she stood two paces behind Einarr's quaking form. The next, her body was horizontal on the carpeted ground, pressed against the hard surface by Einarr himself.

She gasped, desperate to pull oxygen into her body again despite the immense weight against her ribcage. "Einarr!"

He seethed in her ear, his breath coming in ragged pants that sounded more animal than human. "Watch your tongue, female."

Instinctively, Calla's legs parted, creating a crevice for Einarr's body– his hips– between them. She nearly cried at the blessed friction that his engorged member offered her core. Like a female hound in heat, she fought to buck her hips against him, but his sheer size kept her body pinned to the fur rugs.

"I will never hear that male's name on your lips again," Einarr growled, his sharp canine teeth grazing the pulse at her neck. Calla could not tell if her body shook on its own accord, or if the tremors that raked through her were simply a consequence of Einarr's rage.

Einarr shifted to the side, allowing just enough room for Calla to fill her lungs with life and his hand to grapple with the hem of her ugly brown frock. When the coarse fabric did not immediately yield to his movements, Einarr snarled. With a violent tug, the dress ripped at the seam, from skirt to bodice.

Soon Calla was reduced to nothing but her white chemise.

"Please," she groaned. She didn't truly know what she begged for– a reprieve or a thorough reclaiming. Einarr ignored her. He lifted his gaze, and Calla nearly flinched at the ire that swam in his gray eyes. His hand found the hem of her flimsy chemise, bunching the fabric until it rested at her hip bones.

"Say it," the Alpha seethed, a muscle in his jaw twitching.

At first, Calla couldn't fathom what he meant, and it was only made worse by the sensation of his hand exploring her midsection. Her eyes widened as his calloused hand firmly enveloped one of her breasts, the heat of his flesh searing the taut bud at its center.