The Collared Pet: Book Three of the King's Collared by Douglas Demitria

Author:Douglas, Demitria
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-11-29T00:00:00+00:00

It would almost be nice, Therus allowed, stretching out in the bed. Dove was tucked against him, sighing sleepily as he stretched his legs again. He slid his arm around her, drawing her closer, resting his cheek on her hair. It would be nice, truly nice, if they had been out traveling for the Rites, or if they were traveling for their own pleasure, not hiding away in a small inn in the hopes of avoiding elven assassins.

Therus smothered a snort, not wanting to wake his user, not wanting her reprimand. He knew he should probably be taking this more seriously, knew that Jared was, that Vel was as serious as death about it, but it was easier for Therus to view things through the lens of humour, of acknowledging that things were mostly farces.

It made it easier for him to shrug off consequences, to survive what came, the successes and the losses. It had been easier to maintain that cavalier attitude before Dove, of course. Now he had to worry for her, chose to worry for her, the twisted tangle in his heart, in his gut, at the thought of her hurt or at risk chasing him from sleep, words fighting their way up his throat, begging to be spoken, to be breathed out into the world and into his sweet girl’s ears. She must feel something akin to what burned in his chest, tucking against him as readily as a stray cat, collarless and wild, yet still his. He wanted her to be his, at least, and desperately wanted to be hers. He loved her, wholeheartedly, unabashedly, and he thought she knew, but he didn’t want to risk tainting what was steadily building between them with a hastily uttered phrase.

He choked on another snort, imagining how furious Vel would be when she found out, when she realized that he wasn’t going anywhere, that so long as Dove would have him, he would be hers. Therus pressed a kiss to his girl’s hair, wincing as she pinched him.

“Stop squirming.” Dove’s voice was sleepy, mild for all that she was frustrated, and Therus laughed, the sound joyful, pleased. “Therus.”

He grinned at the whine in his user’s voice, squeezing her against him, tucking the blankets around them more tightly. “You should be sleeping, sweetheart.”

Dove’s groan was music to his ears, a melody he would seek for the rest of his life.

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