His voice came out sleep-rough. Satisfaction dripped from every syllable, thick and lazy and entirely too pleased. Like a cat full of cream. Or perhaps more like a dog with his bone. Like someone who’d woken to find the world exactly as he’d wanted it.
Smug.
Elsa’s pulse kicked up despite herself. “You’re awake.”
“So are you.” He stretched against her—a slow, deliberate movement that rolled through his entire body and pressed every inch of him more firmly against hers. The hardness at her lower back shifted with the motion, utterly unmistakable now. No apology. No attempt to hide what was very clearly making its presence known. “Did you sleep well?”
“I—” The words stuck in her throat. She tried to pull away.
He pulled her closer instead.
No effort. No strain. Just iron-strong arms repositioning her exactly where he wanted her, tucking her more securely against the furnace of his body. His muzzle found the curve of her shoulder and stayed there, breathing deep.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Nowhere, apparently.”
A sound rumbled through him that might have been a laugh. His muzzle tracked up the side of her neck, nose brushing the sensitive skin behind her ear as he inhaled again. And again. Breathing her in like she was something he needed to survive.
“You smell different when you’re rested.” The observation came casual, almost dreamy. “Sweeter. The Frosted Tears is stronger now—it was muted before, buried under stress chemicals and exhaustion.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means I enjoy having you in my nest.” His paw spread wider across her belly, claws carefully retracted. “I enjoy waking with your scent soaked into my furs. I enjoy—” He shifted again, that deliberate press against her lower back, “—this.”
She should be horrified. Should be afraid. Should be planning escape routes and cataloguing exits and doing all the things her survival instincts demanded.
Instead, her traitorous body relaxed another fraction into his warmth.
“You’re stiff.” Sylas’s observation came amused now, a thread of knowing humor beneath the lazy satisfaction. “I can feel the tension in your muscles. Did you not rest properly?”
Elsa’s jaw tightened. “I rested fine.”
“Then why—” He shifted behind her, rolling his hips in a slow, deliberate motion that ground the hardness more firmly against her spine. “Ah. This bothers you.”
She should lie. Should pretend indifference, or disgust, or the kind of fear a normal person would feel when trapped in the arms of an alien monster twice her size with very obvious intentions pressed against her body.
Instead, what came out was: “I could ask you the same thing.”
Silence.
Then that rumbling laugh again, deeper this time. Delighted. His arm loosened just enough to turn her, rearranging her effortlessly until she faced him.
Those cyan eyes gleamed in the dim light filtering through the narrow windows. Sleep-soft but sharp underneath—calculating even now, even here, even with his body clearly responding to her proximity in ways neither of them could ignore.
“Is my pet bothered by her king’s body reacting to her?” The question held no shame. Only curiosity. Only that same predatory focus she’d learned to recognize in him. “You should be flattered. I don’t wake like this often.”
“Flattered.” She kept her voice flat despite the heat crawling up her spine. “That’s one word for it.”
His muzzle curved in something that wasn’t quite a smile. Too many teeth for that. But the expression held warmth, and something darker underneath. “What word would you choose?”
She didn’t have an answer. That was the problem.
She wasn’t scared. She should be scared. Should be horrified, or disgusted, or furious at being trapped in this position with a monster who apparently found her desirable in ways she hadn’t anticipated when she’d agreed—when she’d been forced—when she’d made whatever complicated choice had landed her here.
Instead, something warm coiled low in her belly. Her body responded without permission—pulse quickening, skin flushingwhere it pressed against his fur, breath catching in ways that had nothing to do with fear.
There was something darkly erotic about his possessiveness. About being the center of this predator’s attention. About feeling proof of his desire pressed against her while he purred contentment into her hair like she was the best thing that had happened to him.