Wait!" Silas cried out, his hand shot out to grab the hem of Alaric's royal tunic. He was trembling so hard he could barely speak. "The drive... it's in the courtyard. Under the loose marble stone... near the fountain where I fell. Just... make the fire stop, Alaric. Please."
Alaric didn't waste another second. He grabbed Silas by the back of the neck, his fingers tangling in the Omega's dark, messy hair, and pulled him up. He didn't use a needle, and he didn't offer medicine. Instead, he smashed his lips against Silas's in a collision that stole the air from both their lungs.
It was an explosion of suppressed desire and raw power. This wasn't the fake, gentle kiss of a "fiancé." This was the hungry, possessive claim of an Alpha who had finally caught his prey. Silas let out a soft, broken moan into Alaric's mouth, his fingers digging into the Prince's broad shoulders, pulling him closer as if he wanted to merge their bodies together.
The kiss was rough and desperate. Alaric's tongue swept into Silas's mouth, claiming every inch, forcing Silas to submit to the sheer intensity of the moment. For the first time in his thirty years, Silas felt completely overpowered—and to his horror, he loved it. The fire in his blood began to change, turning from a painful burn into a deep, heavy pleasure. He was a prisoner of the crown, but in this moment, he didn't want to be anywhere else.