faux sun had traveled through the artificial sky. Around them, the forest rustled. She lifted her gaze at the first flash of white and stared as the tigers drifted out of the mist curling across the forest floor. One by one, they gathered into the clearing, stretching out to greet Anthony and Roseâtre by turns, until they were sprawled all around them.
It should have unnerved her, this display of power, of unity, of Pride, but she reached out her fingers to caress Nalini’s sweet face. The tiger seemed to almost smile, her raspy tongue swiping across Roseâtre’s fingers in warm welcome.
“They know you’re mine.” Anthony’s husky voice rumbled. The tiger reflected in the cool blue of his eyes. Dear gods, she was his. The thought should have been enough to ice the languid heat still surging in her blood, but she was full to the brim with being his.
“You marked me.”
“Yes, I did. More than once.” A smirk took up residence on his sensuous mouth. Pride at his accomplishment colored his words. He was so damn male.
Her male.
Roseâtre sighed. The soft sound stilled Anthony’s features, chilling the ardor of his gaze.
“Are you unhappy with it?” The question was solemn, out of place in their sensuous stupor.
“I should be,” she admitted, hating herself for the flash of pain that steeled his features. “An Amazon mating is fleeting, lasting only until we conceive.”
“But?” Her cat was wise, she’d discovered, pressing past the surface to probe for deeper answers. Answers she wasn’t always willing to share.
“But you marked me.”
His brow furrowed and he tucked a hand behind his head, stretching his magnificent chest. Did he have any idea what the motion of his muscles did to her? Her hungry gaze roamed over him. She wanted to thump her breast and scream it from the cliff top. He was hers.
Amazons don’t mate for life. Amazons don’t submit. Amazons require men for one thing and then they release them. Roseâtre didn’t feel much like an Amazon.
“You’re crying.” He raised his free hand, gliding it over her cheek, thumb stroking away the moisture she hadn’t even realized was there.
“By marking me, you’ve staked a claim.”
“I’m aware, trust me.” His bearded cheeks dimpled. Pure masculine satisfaction swelling with each word.
“By allowing you to mark me, I’ve submitted to that claim.”
He went still. Hadn’t expected that, had he? She grinned, pleased and rueful at once. It was better that he not become too accustomed to her surrender. It wasn’t in her nature to be passive.
“You’re mine.” Despite the firmness of the statement, a sliver of query hung at the end of the word.
“I wish it was that easy.” The words were simpler to express than she might have imagined. Her body and soul committed where her mind feared to tread.
Perhaps the surrender inherent in her words was enough, because Anthony pounced. “It is that easy. You’re mine. I am not letting you go, and if that means tying you to a bed and torturing you with pleasure until you scream it to the sky, then I’ll do it.”
Her body heated at the seductive promise. “Will you really?”
“Do you prefer satin or silk?” He purred.
Roseâtre’s eyes widened. “For what?”
“To be tied up with. I’ll fetch it right now.”
She dropped her lips to his chest and lapped her tongue across his nipple. Stiffness rolled through his body, the musk of their shared passion drenching the air. She scraped her teeth over his pectoral, testing the flesh.
“Bite me,” his voice was dark, smoky and hot with need.
“I want to,” she confessed against his skin. It was easier to admit if she wasn’t looking into his sinful blue eyes. “But I am sworn by oath, Anthony.”
“Oaths can be broken.”
“No.” Her heart cracked at the idea. “I’m a princess. My oaths are in my blood. No matter what my body desires. No matter what my soul hungers for. I cannot break with my oath, it would
It should have unnerved her, this display of power, of unity, of Pride, but she reached out her fingers to caress Nalini’s sweet face. The tiger seemed to almost smile, her raspy tongue swiping across Roseâtre’s fingers in warm welcome.
“They know you’re mine.” Anthony’s husky voice rumbled. The tiger reflected in the cool blue of his eyes. Dear gods, she was his. The thought should have been enough to ice the languid heat still surging in her blood, but she was full to the brim with being his.
“You marked me.”
“Yes, I did. More than once.” A smirk took up residence on his sensuous mouth. Pride at his accomplishment colored his words. He was so damn male.
Her male.
Roseâtre sighed. The soft sound stilled Anthony’s features, chilling the ardor of his gaze.
“Are you unhappy with it?” The question was solemn, out of place in their sensuous stupor.
“I should be,” she admitted, hating herself for the flash of pain that steeled his features. “An Amazon mating is fleeting, lasting only until we conceive.”
“But?” Her cat was wise, she’d discovered, pressing past the surface to probe for deeper answers. Answers she wasn’t always willing to share.
“But you marked me.”
His brow furrowed and he tucked a hand behind his head, stretching his magnificent chest. Did he have any idea what the motion of his muscles did to her? Her hungry gaze roamed over him. She wanted to thump her breast and scream it from the cliff top. He was hers.
Amazons don’t mate for life. Amazons don’t submit. Amazons require men for one thing and then they release them. Roseâtre didn’t feel much like an Amazon.
“You’re crying.” He raised his free hand, gliding it over her cheek, thumb stroking away the moisture she hadn’t even realized was there.
“By marking me, you’ve staked a claim.”
“I’m aware, trust me.” His bearded cheeks dimpled. Pure masculine satisfaction swelling with each word.
“By allowing you to mark me, I’ve submitted to that claim.”
He went still. Hadn’t expected that, had he? She grinned, pleased and rueful at once. It was better that he not become too accustomed to her surrender. It wasn’t in her nature to be passive.
“You’re mine.” Despite the firmness of the statement, a sliver of query hung at the end of the word.
“I wish it was that easy.” The words were simpler to express than she might have imagined. Her body and soul committed where her mind feared to tread.
Perhaps the surrender inherent in her words was enough, because Anthony pounced. “It is that easy. You’re mine. I am not letting you go, and if that means tying you to a bed and torturing you with pleasure until you scream it to the sky, then I’ll do it.”
Her body heated at the seductive promise. “Will you really?”
“Do you prefer satin or silk?” He purred.
Roseâtre’s eyes widened. “For what?”
“To be tied up with. I’ll fetch it right now.”
She dropped her lips to his chest and lapped her tongue across his nipple. Stiffness rolled through his body, the musk of their shared passion drenching the air. She scraped her teeth over his pectoral, testing the flesh.
“Bite me,” his voice was dark, smoky and hot with need.
“I want to,” she confessed against his skin. It was easier to admit if she wasn’t looking into his sinful blue eyes. “But I am sworn by oath, Anthony.”
“Oaths can be broken.”
“No.” Her heart cracked at the idea. “I’m a princess. My oaths are in my blood. No matter what my body desires. No matter what my soul hungers for. I cannot break with my oath, it would
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