第8章 Chapter (1)

Rohan was washing the zywern when the back of his neck tingled, his senses sharpening abruptly. He stiffened, this time recognizing the signs and reinforcing his mental shields. Not that it had done him much good the past few times he’d had an encounter with Prince Jamil.

Fucking hell. Having a nosy prince poking his nose into his business would be bad enough even if said prince didn’t make Rohan’s higher brain function go out the window the moment they locked eyes.

Rohan almost laughed, thinking of the prince’s stubborn insistence that it had been just a telepathic bleed-through. On Tai’Lehr, that wasn’t what they called it. At least he was pretty sure it was what he thought it was—not that he’d ever experienced a Fit that was so strong and hard to resist. In the past, when he had a pretty good Fit with a woman, Rohan’s natural reaction was to merge with her and screw her into the mattress until the urge for intimacy passed. He obviously couldn’t do it now—not with that toplofty, prim prince who would probably call for guards if he knew that the “lowly, ill-mannered brute” wanted his filthy paws all over his perfect, royal skin.

Rohan’s lips twisted into a wry smile. Prince Jamil’s thoughts on him were kind of amusing, considering everything, except he didn’t feel much amusement in a situation like this. Not only was it a distraction he didn’t need, but the Crown Prince of the Third Grand Clan taking interest in him could potentially endanger his task, too. His background would not hold up under a closer scrutiny. He needed to find a way to get Prince Jamil off his back. Of course, there was always the option of messing with the prince’s mind and wiping his memories of Rohan, but it was too risky now. He should have acted sooner, after their first encounter. Now the prince’s memories would be too difficult to tamper with without being caught, given the fact that members of Calluvian royalty were usually trained to recognize the signs of telepathic tampering. By now the prince likely had too many memories of thinking about the strange man in the stables, and thoughts were always harder to erase than memories.

“I want to speak to you,” the familiar, lovely voice said from behind. “I have questions.”

Rohan considered how to handle this situation. Maybe he should just scare the prince away, act like the ill-mannered, crass brute His Highness expected him to be.

Rohan put the hose away and walked out of the stall, past the prince, without saying anything.

“Did you hear me?” the prince said, his aura darkening with anger as he followed him.

“Yes.” Rohan strode away.

“You will stop when I’m speaking to you,” Jamil said, sounding absolutely incensed as he grabbed Rohan’s arm and spun him around.

Rohan slammed his shields up, higher than they had ever been, but it helped very little. He still felt that sickening lurch the moment his gaze locked with those green eyes framed by ridiculously long, dark eyelashes.

But it wasn’t Prince Jamil’s beauty that captured his attention. Rohan had met and slept with a lot of eous people in his life. He was indifferent toward men anyway, no matter how handsome they were. If it weren’t for the way their telepathy reached for each other, eager and hungry, Rohan wouldn’t have spared Prince Jamil a second glance, though it wasn’t for his lack of beauty.

Objectively, Prince Jamil’ngh’veighli was a handsome man. People said he was the most handsome man on Calluvia, and Rohan had to agree that they could be right. The prince had exquisite facial features, and his mouth… the bow of his mouth was kind of obscene, his lips red against his milk-white skin. His shoulder-length hair was shiny and wavy. Prince Jamil looked like he stepped out of a fairy tale.

It still wasn’t his looks that made Rohan’s heart beat faster. It was something invisible to the eye, a quality that made his hindbrain go a little crazy and his fingers itch with the urge to touch. The urge wasn’t sexual. Rohan was heterosexual, which was pretty rare in modern times, considering that eighty percent of the population of the Union of Pls identified as bisexual. His heterosexuality had nothing to do with him being old-fashioned and everything to do with not being into flat chests and cock.

That was why the overwhelming urge to touch this prince was so damn disconcerting. With women, a good Fit usually just meant great sex with a mentallypatible person. Here the urge to touch was just fucking weird, because his cock didn’t harden, but he still wanted to paw all over the prince’s skin and then merge their minds together until he couldn’t tell where his mind ended and Prince Jamil’s began.

Rohan closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind. Control. He was in control. He wasn’t an animal. He was a grown man. He wasn’t going to let his instincts rule him. He was the one in control, his instincts be damned.

He opened his eyes and said, “What do you want? Make it quick, Highness.” He intentionally kept his tone rude and disrespectful, wanting to infuriate the prince into leaving and nevering back.

But Prince Jamil raised his eyebrows, crossing his arms over his chest, and met his gaze steadily. The only thing that betrayed that he wasn’t asposed as he seemed was the flush on his pale cheeks—and maybe the slight tremor to his lips as he spoke. “I want to know the situation on Tai’Lehr.”

Rohan struggled to keep his face blank. This wasn’t the question he’d expected.

He shrugged. “What do you mean? If you’re asking about politics or economy, a zywern trainer would hardly know much.”

“Is there unrest?”

Rohan stared at him. He was tempted to delve into the prince’s mind to find out why he was asking such questions, but he knew better than to let their minds touch. He was barely controlling himself as it was. Any telepathic contact would be just plain stupid.

“Unrest?” he said neutrally. “As far as I know, no. Why the sudden interest?”

“I’m the one asking questions here.”

“We live in modern times, Highness. You can no longer behead your subjects for daring to ask ufortable questions.”

“You—you—” Jamil spluttered like a little boy, which was kind of amusing, considering he had the reputation of an unflappable, highly rational man. Finally, he seemed to get control of himself and said stiffly, “There’s nothing strange about my interest. Tai’Lehr is a colony of the Third Grand Clan—my clan, if you haven’t noticed. It’s only natural that I would be interested in the situation on Tai’Lehr.”

“There’s no situation on Tai’Lehr,” Rohan said. “And we pay the annual tribute to Calluvia on time, so no, you actually have no reason to take interest in Tai’Lehr.”

The prince stepped forward, his green eyes narrowed. “You just said that a zywern trainer would know nothing about the colony’s politics and economy.”

Rohan swore on the inside. He blamed his mistake on the fact that he had been too distracted by the annoyingly enticing pull of the prince’s mind—he’d never wanted to get inside of someone so damn badly, including the times his cock was actually interested in the proceedings.

“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 themunication 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-rangemunicators 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 aplete 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