The heavy oak doors of the royal suite creaked open, a sound that felt like a death knell in the silence of the room. Silas didn't move. He remained pinned to the headboard by the gold handcuff, his silver hair fanned out against the black silk pillows. He watched as Prince Alaric stepped into the room. The Prince was a mess of raw power and damp fabric. His white military shirt was translucent from the fountain water, clinging to the broad, muscular planes of his chest and the sharp line of his shoulders. In his hand, he gripped the silver drive—the object that held the lives of Silas and his brother in the balance.
Alaric didn't say a word as he crossed the room. He walked to the heavy mahogany desk and tossed the drive onto the surface. The metallic thud echoed, a reminder of Silas's failed mission. The Prince then turned his full attention to the bed. His midnight-blue eyes were no longer calm or royal; they were the eyes of a predator who had finally cornered its prey. He began to unbutton his damp cuffs, his movements slow and deliberate, designed to make Silas feel every second of the approaching storm.
As Alaric reached the edge of the bed, the air in the room seemed to thicken, becoming heavy with the scent of sandalwood and ozone. Silas felt his pulse jump, a frantic drumming in his ears that he couldn't quiet. He looked up at the Prince, searching for a spark of the man who had shown him tenderness before, but he found only a dark, possessive hunger. Alaric reached into his pocket and pulled out the small, ornate gold key. The light from the chandelier caught the metal, making it glint like a dragon's tooth.
Alaric leaned over Silas, his shadow completely engulfing the Omega. The heat radiating from his body was like a physical wall. He reached for Silas's shackled wrist, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin with a spark that made Silas's breath hitch. He unlocked the cuff from the headboard, but before Silas could even think of drawing his hand back, Alaric pinned both of Silas's wrists above his head with one powerful grip. The strength was absolute, reminding Silas that despite his training as an assassin, he was physically outmatched by the Alpha Prince. Alaric lowered his face until their noses were almost touching, his breath hot and demanding against Silas's trembling lips.