Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90827 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90827 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
“The fact that we give Calluvia a good chunk of what we extract is hardly a top secret,” he said. “On Tai’Lehr, even kids know that.”
The prince lifted his eyebrows. “Do I detect resentment in your voice?” he said. “Our cut is very reasonable. Tai’Lehr is a Calluvian colony. It belongs to Calluvia.”
Rohan pressed his lips together to prevent himself from saying something he shouldn’t. “You weren’t interested in the colony last time we talked. What prompted this sudden interest?”
The prince seemed to think for a moment before speaking again. “I just find it very strange that the communication with the colony has been so sporadic. One might suspect the colony of entertaining treasonous ideas.”
“Nothing strange about it,” Rohan said curtly, careful not to let his face betray anything. “Long-range communicators don’t work around Tai’Lehr—unless you expect our people to risk their lives in the war zone just to give you pretty quarterly reports.”
The prince studied him. “How did you get here, for that matter? You said yourself that you didn’t need this job. It’s insane to risk traveling through a war zone for a job you don’t need.”
“I was already in the area,” Rohan said. “And it isn’t impossible for a single traveler to leave the war zone on small smuggler ships—risky, but not impossible.”
The prince gave him a suspicious look. “And yet the governor’s people couldn’t do it to give us those pretty quarterly reports?”
Rohan shrugged. “What would a zywern trainer know about such things? Besides, dozen of ships get caught every day in the crossfire around Tai’Lehr. The governor’s messengers might have never gotten out of the war zone, for all I know.”
“Don’t you find it strange that—What do you think you’re doing?”
Rohan went rigid, looking down at his brown fingers wrapped around the prince’s pale wrist. He hadn’t even noticed himself moving closer.
“Let go,” Jamil said, his voice a little shaky.
Rohan tried to.
But it was as though his limbs were made from lead, refusing to move, his mind foggy and his eyes zeroed in on the spot below the prince’s left ear. The call of the prince’s mind was fucking intoxicating. He wanted to plunge inside, wanted to sink his teeth into the skin covering the prince’s telepathic center and feel his pulsing core under his lips.
“You should,” Rohan said hoarsely. “You should pull away. I can’t.”
The prince swallowed, his pale throat moving, his green eyes wide and dazed. His shields were failing, and Rohan clenched his jaw, feeling how needy the prince’s core was, starved for touch, for a complete bond. It was both repulsive and addictive.
Rohan couldn’t help it: he pressed his thumb below the prince’s ear and pushed in. A moan left Jamil’s lips, his pupils blowing. He could feel the prince’s core pulsing with need under his thumb, urging him to get deeper, to stroke Jamil’s core from the inside. He wanted to. Fuck, did he want to. But he couldn’t. For the first time in his adult life, Rohan wasn’t sure of his control. A telepathic merge was too intimate a thing, more intimate than sex. There was always the risk of revealing something he shouldn’t, especially when he wanted to merge with someone this badly. Even this shallow contact of their minds felt almost overwhelming.
Control. He was in control. Structure, balance, focus, control. He was in control. He was in control, dammit.
With a curse, Rohan wrenched himself away and curled his hand into a fist. His fingers were fucking shaking. Shaking.
Prince Jamil sagged against the stall, looking flushed and dazed. He was panting, his lips parted and his pupils blown.
Rohan wanted to get the hell away from him. He nearly did. But he liked to think he was a decent person. He couldn’t leave the prince in this state. Prince Jamil was still riding a high, the kind of high that was usually achieved only through a deep merge. But their unique, freakish compatibility had fucked everything up, making the shallow contact of their minds feel better than the deepest telepathic merge Rohan had ever indulged in. Coupled with the fact that the prince was recently widowed, his mind hungry for any mental touch, it was understandable that he would be in such a state.
“Look at me,” he said, not unkindly, taking the prince’s wrist again and stroking it lightly. Rohan was reluctant to touch him, still not trusting his self-control, but there was little choice. Crashing down after a merge could be absolutely brutal and disorienting if the person wasn’t brought back down gently. “Look at me, Highness.”
Slowly, he watched the prince’s gaze focus on him. “Your Highness,” he corrected automatically, still sounding a little breathless.
Rohan almost laughed. “Go back to the palace, Your Highness,” he said, dropping his hand and trying to pretend his hand didn’t feel empty. “Go back and don’t come back here.”