Lycan Prince's Fated Mate

5

Dante growled menacingly, effectively silencing the older Lycan.

“You forget your place, Elder. Do so again and lose your head.”

The elder bowed deeply.

“I apologize, Prince Dante. Please consider⁠—”

I turned away, unable to listen to the rest of the conversation. As if ignoring what I heard would make it disappear.

I was getting too good at that. Ignoring things like the side glances and hushed whispers about me at court events.

Ignoring the pitiful looks my maids and guards gave me any time I tried to talk to Dante only for him to ignore me and walk away.

I ignored it until I couldn't anymore.

“Tonight, you will visit the Prince,” Sophia informed me two days later, her eyes filled with compassion and sadness.

I began to shake. Only later would I realize that it wasn't just from pain and humiliation but also rage. After almost six months of ignoring my existence, Dante wanted us to make an heir to secure his right to the throne.

I wouldn't have gone but it was a chance to speak with Dante alone. One I hadn't gotten since coming to this palace. I couldn't waste it.

So, I let them scrub me clean, rub oils and scents on my skin, tease out my hair. And as I walked towards Dante’s room, I felt like a lamb primed for the s*******r.

I’d been sitting at the edge of Dante’s bed for over an hour before he walked in.

He was wearing a simple robe with silk pants that fell to his ankles, his chest bare. His ink-black hair fell over his forehead and while I could smell the booze this far away, his gray eyes were razor-sharp and clear.

His robe hit the ground and for whatever reason, my lungs refused to function properly, my heart raced in my chest as Dante walked towards me.

All the words I had to say, all my anger and protests disappeared.

Dante reached me and I shuffled back on his bed, scrambling to keep the distance between us.

Dante stayed silent, those gray eyes steady on me as he reached out, grabbing my leg and pulling me back towards him.

His hand on my thigh burned and I found myself shivering.

“I can't do this.” But the protest was weak as it left my lips.

Dante’s hand traveled up my thigh bunching up my nightdress while his other hand bared my shoulder, pulling my robe and the thin shoulder strap of my nightdress to the side.

My fingernails dug into the duvet, an unwanted moan building in the back of my throat.

“I can't,” I repeated.

Dante ignored me, as he leaned over dropping a kiss on my exposed shoulder.

The sudden heady shot of adrenaline and desire coursing through my veins had me fighting the urge to submit to him. An urge I thought was long erased by all of Dante’s cruelty.

“Please, Dante,” I begged, my voice trembling, a lone tear traveling down my cheek.

Dante paused, his face a perfect porcelain mask.

“You don't need to pretend. I know you overheard the conversation between Elder Hardt and I.” His voice was soft but no less cold.

It was a sharp contrast to the warmth of his caress as he traced the back of his hand down my cheek wiping away my tears and stopped at my chin. His thumb hovering over but not quite touching my lips.

“I will do my duty to my people even if it means being with someone I despise, Ivie. Someone like you.”

This was the moment it really sank in that my mate hated me.

My eyes burned with unshed tears.

“Why do you hate me so much?”

Dante didn't hesitate in his response.

“You are a lowly omega unworthy of being my mate. You schemed to deceive and seduce me to escape your pack, and I had to break the heart of the woman I love because of you.”

For the first time I heard something other than contempt in Dante’s voice, I heard pain.

He really loved Miranda, his ex-fiancé. He still loved her.

My cheeks were wet, and my words came out as a strangled sob.

“But I have no control over the bond, neither of us do. That night⁠—”

Dante didn't let me finish.

“That night was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made,” he said unflinchingly.

His words hit me hard, my chest hurting as though someone had stabbed me. Diana didn't want to believe our mate’s cruel words while I just sat there trembling and utterly lost.

“Then what are you doing here?” I asked Dante.

“Today is your most fertile day according to the physicians and my duty comes before my emotions,” Dante shrugged, those callous gray eyes focused on me. “But I won't force myself on you, Ivie.”

Dante c****d his head slightly to the side. “Just tell me to stop.”

Dante kissed me. It should have felt terrible. I should have felt nothing but revulsion, but the mate bond wouldn't let me.

He tasted like home. He tasted addictive. And as his tongue swept into my mouth, I forgot when I had parted my lips for him.

Dante growled abruptly cutting our kiss short, his lips dipping to my nape like a man on a mission, his every lick, kiss and bite so urgent that I knew he was fighting his instincts to mark me.

I placed my hands on his shoulders fully intending to push him away but all I could do was tug him closer, my body soft and pliant beneath him.

Tell him to stop? That would have required speech and none of the sounds I was capable of making were intelligible.

It was too much. The rough glide of his palm against my inner thighs, the feeling of his hot breath over my skin, the press of his lips, the nip of his canines.

Dante pulled back and I couldn't read the look in his dark eyes.

“That's what I thought.”

My cheeks burned. Despite my initial reluctance, I didn't tell him to stop. Just as he’d predicted. Then his lips were on mine again and I forgot my shame.

My robe was gone in my next breath, my slip of a nightdress bunched around my waist and Dante stood between my legs, his hand on my breast.

I felt myself spiraling out of control, my hands caressing his bare shoulders, trailing down his back then Dante swiftly caught both of my hands pushing them above my head.

He didn't want me touching him.

It hurt. Oh, Goddess, it hurt.

Maybe if it had just been pain, I could have been strong enough to push him away.

But it was more. It was the feeling of completeness in his arms, the visceral pleasure, the maddening and intensifying attraction with each touch from the mate bond.

From his deep, masculine scent that made my mind hazy, his weight on me, his masterful fingers inside me, my body’s thoughtless undulation against his, and my reaction to his every touch.