Morrigan Royce

She smelled them before she saw them.

Not the usual passing musk of too-much-cologne and ego—no, this was wild, sharp, ripe. Like rain on stone. Like heat and hunger.

The bond slammed into her like a kiss to the throat.

Morrigan paused mid-step in the corridor, fingers still delicately holding a book she had no intention of reading. Her heart fluttered once. Then twice. Then—

“There.” Royal’s voice in her head purred like a coiled ribbon. “That’s ours.”

Her lips curled into a slow smile, lashes batting lazily as she turned her head.

There they were. Across the corridor, just stepping out of some gilded hall, eyes locked on her like they’d walked face-first into a fire.

Morrigan tilted her head, mock-innocent.

“Oh, you’re the reason my thighs feel warm,” she murmured sweetly. “Fate has such terrible timing.”

They didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Just stared—tense, stunned, scent rolling off them like a claiming storm.

She took a step toward them, deliberately slow.

“I thought my heat wasn’t due for another week,” she whispered, playful venom on her tongue. “But look at you. All clenched jaw and ruined thoughts already. Poor thing.”

They moved—just a twitch, a breath—and her stomach fluttered. Her wolf growled.

“Let them catch us.” Royal begged inside her mind, tail swaying eagerly. The chase hadn't event started yet. “Not yet,” she purred back, already turning.

She took two more teasing steps closer, gaze dropping to their hands, their chest, their mouth.

Then she smirked—pure bratty royalty—and whispered:

“You look like you want to pin me.” A pause. A beat. The tension cracked between them like lightning.

She turned on her heel, skirts flaring behind her, and bolted.

“Catch me then, if you think you can.” she called over her shoulder, breathless laughter trailing in her wake.

She didn’t run because she was scared. She ran because she wanted to be chased. And because if they did catch her?

Oh, she'd make them earn it.