Dire Bound (The Wolves of Ruin, #1)

by Sable Sorensen

I like it more than I’d ever admit, having someone to take care of me.

It takes a special man to tame a wild thing.

I’m going to protect you, and I’m going to protect your sister. Let me.”

I’ll never be able to sleep again unless I talk to him, confront him. And maybe sucker punch him in his beautiful face. That might help me cope.

“When he breathes, it annoys me.”

“You are more precious to me than you could ever imagine,”

Then he steps back and stares hungrily at my naked, bloodied form. My cheeks flush. “I’m sure I look frightful,” I say. “You’re the most beautiful you’ve ever been.”

“The king doesn’t have some noble bride picked out for you already?” Killian’s hands close around my thighs. Hard. “You’re mine,” he growls. “I don’t need anyone’s permission for that other than yours.”

Don’t punch the nobles, don’t punch the nobles, I chant to myself, even though I really, really want to slam my fist into this man’s face.

He yanks me onto the crowded dance floor. “Wasn’t a request, princess.”

“I’m his, and his alone.”

“You’re my good girl. Mine,”

Psycho. Fucking. Asshole. I’ll show him. But then his fingers come up, pressing calluses against my lips. “Thinking about spitting in my face again, princess?” he says, dark amusement in his eyes. Oh good, so no one here’s forgotten that moment.

And in case my implication is not crystal fucking clear: You touch her again and I’ll cull you myself.”

“I will never lie to you,”

“Who did this to you?” he demands ferociously, one calloused hand clamping hotly on my thigh.

His face is ridiculously handsome when he’s not scowling. Beautiful, even.

I take back every thought I’ve ever had about wanting him to be nicer. I liked him better when he wanted me dead.

I’m going to have to deal with him constantly. I’m never going to live a life without mean stares and dramatic looming.

“You are my queen, Meryn,” he pants. “All mine.”

Fuck, his eyelashes are long.

“I’m the rightful queen of Nocturna, aren’t I?” I ask. Stark’s eyes spark, he takes a single step back, and he bows down on one knee, hand to his chest. “Welcome home, my queen.”

“Kill you?” he exclaims, then glances over his shoulder toward the entrance of the dungeons and lowers his voice. “I’ve been doing everything in my power to keep you safe!”

“Do you have any idea what it felt like to watch you at the Forging Ball in the dress I picked for you”—What?!—“swirling in your lover’s arms and bowing to his traitor father?”

“Give me the word and I’ll tear out his throat. All the lives I’ve ever taken were just training for this moment, my queen. Make me your instrument of vengeance. Let my hands act out your every savage, depraved thought. Use me. I’m yours.”

Mine. My psycho asshole. My bloodthirsty killer.

“I’d tell you not to put yourself in danger,” he says, “but I know you better than that.” I bite my lip, suddenly self-conscious. “You’re worried?” He scoffs. “Never. You are the danger. Any person who doesn’t see that deserves what’s coming to them.”

I love you. You’re not in your right mind right now”—oh, not this shit again—“but