Page 50 of Hateful Prince
“Tor? Why are you staring daggers at my chest?”
Dahlia’s amused question pulled my focus to where she stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a smile on her lips.
Her unintended double entendre made me laugh. “As a rule, I try to only stare at your chest in adoration. Or perhaps supplication.”
She giggled. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been missing you. The last few times I’ve come to see you, you’ve been busy with someone else. Both fictional and real.”
Her expression softened with tender understanding. “I’m sorry. Are you feeling left out?”
“A little,” I admitted, feeling equal parts embarrassed and vulnerable. “I’m not built to share, and we aren’t going about this in any way I’m familiar with.”
“What do you mean by that?” She reached out, placing a gentle hand on my cheek, and gods help me, I leaned in and soaked up every ounce of her affection.
“I mean, the only relationship like this I know is one where all parties are welcome at all times. I know Sunday makes time for each of her mates individually, but generally speaking, they’ve always seemed to work as a unit. It’s hard to understand my place in a group when instinct demands I keep you all to myself.”
“I see what you’re saying. It’s a lot to juggle, honestly. My writing schedule and your competing needs. Not to mention the four of you don’t really get along that well on a good day.”
I let out a little grumble of agreement. “Alpha males don’t share well. Not our women or anything else. We prefer to establish a clear pecking order.”
She snickered. “You don’t say. And here I thought you were all the picture of rational, securely attached men.”
I smiled at her words, though it morphed into a frown when she whimpered.
“What’s wrong?”
Her hand clutched her lower belly. “Excuse me for a second. I’ll be right back.”
Senses on high alert, I watched her dash into the bathroom. Was my mate sick? Had someone poisoned her coffee this morning? I’d tear the perpetrator’s guts out through their arsehole.
“Thank fucking God and all the saints!” she shouted from behind the closed door.
My eyebrows flew into my hairline. I couldn’t recall a time I’d ever rejoiced while in the toilets.
She emerged a few minutes later with a mixture of relief and pain etched into her features.
“Are you all right, Kærasta?”
“You’ll be happy to know you did not plant your giant Viking baby in my womb.” Her smile was wide, but her eyes were still pinched with pain.
“Why would that make me happy?”
Her jaw dropped. “Were you trying to knock me up with your big-headed babies?”
I shrugged. “Not specifically, but if Odin sees fit to bless our union, why would that bring me anything other than joy?”
She shook her head, at a loss for words. “I... You... We.” Then she took a long breath, eyes closed, face tilted up to the heavens. “We have known each other for ten minutes. You can’t possibly want to have babies with me, you fucking weirdo.”
Warmth filled my chest at the thought of creating our own little brood of Vikings and Valkyries. “We’ve known each other much longer than that, and the idea of making a family with you is more than satisfying.”
“Oh my God. This is like that series I read about the women who crash landed on a frozen planet and then each found their big blue be-spurred alien mates. All they wanted was to fuck and breed them too. But I guess they ended up happy in the long run, and the orgasms were nice. Although the pelts and furs and fucking snow seemed like a lot to take.”
I couldn’t stop my smirk as she rambled on and on about something I didn’t even want to try to understand. “Do you have an aversion to snow, Kærasta? Novasgard is quite cold.”
She threw her hands up in the air. “Way to miss the entire fucking point, Viking.”
“Was there a point somewhere in there?”