The Prince Who Brought Home a Wolf
Karim woke to the sound of something dying—or so he thought, for the first three heart-stopping seconds before his mind caught up with his ears.
It was not a death rattle. It was a whimper, high and thin, coming from somewhere near the hearth, and it was accompanied by a second sound that made Karim's blood run cold with a very specific, very familiar dread: Eric, trying to be quiet.
Eric had never once in his life succeeded at being quiet. He approached silence the way he approached most things—with enormous enthusiasm and absolutely no skill.
Karim lay still for a moment, staring up at the carved ceiling of their bedchamber, gathering his resolve the way a man might gather his courage before stepping into a burning building. Beside him, the sheets were already cool. Eric's side of the bed had been empty for some time.
"I know you're awake," Eric said from across the room, in the hushed, theatrical whisper of a man who believed himself a master of subterfuge. "I can feel you judging me."
"I haven't opened my eyes yet."
"You don't need to. I can feel it radiating off you. It's a very specific energy. Married-to-Karim energy."
Karim opened his eyes.
The sight that greeted…
