Artemis' eyes snapped open. She stared at the ceiling—dark, silent, unfamiliar.
When did I… fall asleep? Her lashes fluttered. Her body felt heavy, drained.
She shifted slightly and froze.
Arms—strong and warm—were wrapped around her waist.
Alexander.
He was fast asleep.
Artemis blinked, stunned. She had never seen him like this. Peaceful. Almost vulnerable. She was always the one to fall asleep first, and he would always rise before her. But now, the roles had reversed.
A small, involuntary smile tugged at her lips. Her gaze traveled over his features: smooth, pale skin like carved marble, lashes surprisingly long and dark, a perfectly sculpted nose, and lips—soft and pink—that deepened to crimson when he drank wine… or blood. Her cheeks flamed at the thought.
Why am I noticing all this? Her heart fluttered.
Instinctively, she snuggled closer. He pulled her tighter in his sleep, a protective reflex. Her eyes widened, and she swallowed hard, her mind racing.
She'd been kidnapped. Terrified. Powerless. She could barely remember anything after Alexander tore through her captors. Just pain, confusion… and then darkness.
Why had they taken her? They'd mentioned a sacrifice… a grand mistress. Nothing made sense.
Her fingers trembled.
But he came. Alexander came for her. Not with diplomacy or delay—but with fury and fire. She should have been scared of him. Maybe even repulsed by his ruthless nature.
But all she could feel… was warmth.
She let out a shaky breath and wrapped her arm around him gently.
What she didn't know was that Alexander had been awake for a while now. He'd felt her movements, the warmth of her breath on his skin, the way her fingers trembled then stilled.
He stayed still, barely breathing, afraid that if he moved too soon, he'd break the fragile serenity.
No one—apart from his late father, Theodore, Leah and Dimitri—had ever seen him like that. Out of control.
He should've been afraid of that loss of control.
But all he could think of was her.
A distant feeling of loss that was strangely familiar.
When she snuggled into him, a slow, helpless smile ghosted over his lips. And when her arm looped gently around his waist, something inside him cracked open.
He opened his eyes and looked down at her.
She was watching him.
Her breath hitched the moment their eyes met, and she quickly looked away. A flush crept up her neck. He smirked.
Then, ever so slowly, his hand drifted down the curve of her back. She tensed, gasping softly.
He's awake… Her eyes widened.
His fingers slipped under the fabric of her gown, gliding up the bare skin of her spine.
"Are you awake, little bunny?" he whispered against her ear, his voice low and smoky.
"Ma-Master…" she breathed, unable to meet his gaze.
"I'm hungry," he murmured, nuzzling into her hair. "Burnt a lot of energy yesterday."
She hesitated only for a moment. Then she nodded, cheeks crimson. "You… you can, Master. Take as much as you need."
Alexander stilled.
Her voice—soft, unguarded—and the genuine smile that followed hit him like a blow to the chest.
He couldn't look away.
"Artemis…" he whispered, lowering his head. His lips brushed hers, tentative at first, then deeper as she melted into him.
Her fingers clutched his robe, and he growled softly against her mouth.
His tongue traced the seam of her lips, and when she gasped, he slipped inside, tasting her. Her sweet, uncertain moan only spurred him on.
He rolled on top of her, moving slowly, deliberately. Her breath stuttered as her body arched to meet his.
"Bunny…" he exhaled, pulling back just enough to stare down at her. Her bright blue eyes stared up at him, wide and unsure.
Then they flicked away.
He chuckled, dark and full of heat.
"How are you feeling?" he murmured as he kissed her cheek, his lips trailing down her jaw.
"Ngh… I-I'm fine, Master…" she whimpered, her body trembling.
"Are you sure?" he asked again, this time with his mouth against her neck, tongue tracing her pulse before sucking gently.
She gasped—sharp and breathy—and clutched at his shoulders.
"I-I…"
A knock shattered the moment.
Alexander growled.
She let out a shaky exhale, panicked, as his fingers reached for the buttons of her nightgown.
"Ma-Master… th-there's a knock…"
"So?" His tone was rough, impatient, but his hands didn't stop.
One button slipped undone. Then another.
She squirmed, breathless, heart pounding.
The knock grew louder.
He sighed heavily and rolled away, fury simmering just beneath the surface.
Artemis sat up quickly, hastily redoing the buttons. Her chest heaved with every breath.
That was dangerous…
Alexander yanked open the door, his expression thunderous.
The butler stood there, sweating.
"This better be good," he snapped.
"M-My apologies, young master. But… Lady Christine is here. She insists on spending the night."
Artemis stiffened.
What?
Alexander's expression darkened even more. With a curse under his breath, he grabbed his robe and stormed out of the room.
—
Christine sipped her tea beside Dichelle, who was all too happy to entertain her. Priscilla, unimpressed, had already excused herself.
"It seems you have quite a lot of time on your hands, Lady Christine," she'd said dryly before leaving. "Enjoy your tea."
Christine smiled tightly, but her eyes gleamed. She was here with purpose.
Cleopatra had mentioned "the pet" again. She needed to see her for herself—and more importantly, she intended to remind Alexander of who should be in his bed.
Her family had already given their blessing. If she couldn't earn him with charm, she would claim him by any means necessary.
She heard footsteps descending the stairs and straightened, adjusting her gown.
Alexander appeared—bare chest exposed under his loosely tied robe, hair tousled, eyes sharp.
Christine's mouth went dry.
"Alexander," she purred, rising to her feet.
"What are you doing here?" His voice was ice.
Her heart fluttered despite his tone. She stepped closer, voice soft. "Can we speak in your room? Just the two of us?"
His jaw tightened.
"Speak here."
She pouted. "Please… it's been so long."
He cocked his head, unimpressed. "We have nearly a hundred guest rooms. I'm sure one will suit you perfectly."
Her smile faltered.
"Oh. Well then… will you show me to mine? I want you to do it."
Alexander glanced at his mother, who pretended to sip her tea innocently.
"Mother, I'll show Lady Christine to her room. Then I'll return to mine."
"Take your time, son," Cleopatra said, all too pleased.
Alexander turned to the east wing. Christine rushed to grab his arm.
"But I want to go to your room, Alexander."
He glanced at her coldly. "Does my room look like a guest room, my lady?"
Christine flushed. "You know what I mean. It's been a while, hasn't it?" She leaned in, fingers grazing his chest. "Don't you miss me… even a little?"
He rolled his eyes and tugged his arm away.
They reached the guest room door.
"This is yours," he said flatly.
Christine stepped in and turned, slipping the strap of her gown from one shoulder.
"Aren't you coming in?"
"No."
Her face fell. "Alexander—"
"Don't push it, Christine," he growled, eyes flashing.
Then he paused, smirked, and added:
"And my room is off-limits from now on. I don't want you making my bunny uncomfortable."
He turned and walked away.
Christine stared after him, seething.
"Fuck!"
She slammed the door, fists clenched.
"Who the fuck is this slave girl? I'll end her. This was a fucking bust!"
She stormed into the bathroom, tearing off her gown.
You're not getting away from me, Alexander Quinn…