Just as well. She wasn’t sure she could have answered. Her hands trembled as she lifted the mug and took a large swallow of—

She shuddered. He’d said this was coffee. She wasn’t sure what it was, but she was certain it wasn’t coffee. At least, she hoped it wasn’t. Setting the mug down, she braced her head in her hands. She was alone with an Ebon-gray Warlord Prince and a wolf. Sweet Darkness, what was she supposed to do?

Lucivar wound his way through the rocks, needing to put some distance between himself and the witch trembling in his kitchen. Tassle danced beside him, a furry bundle of excitement.

*Can we keep her, Yas?* Tassle asked. *She can be the female for our pack.*

Since he didn’t think Marian wanted to be part of their “pack,” he answered the question with a question. “Why all the tail wagging?”

*Ladvarian says dogs wag their tails to let humans know they want to be friends.*

Ladvarian was a Sceltie Warlord Jaenelle had brought to the Hall when he was a puppy. Since dogs had more experience living with and around humans, the wild kindred who were part of Jaenelle’s court considered Ladvarian an expert on human behavior and looked to him to explain the bewildering things humans did.

*So I wagged my tail,* Tassle continued happily. *I want to be friends. I like her smells.*

Lucivar’s feet rooted to the ground. This was a statement he couldn’t ignore . . . no matter how much he wanted to. He scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed. “Tassle . . . Don’t sniff her crotch.”

*But . . . Yas—*

“I know it’s acceptable among wolves, but you cannot do it with human females. It makes them snarly.”

*But—*

“No, Tassle.”

Tassle hung his head and looked up at Lucivar with woeful eyes. *Would she snarl at you if you sniffed her crotch?*

The picture formed in his mind before he could stop it. Marian, sitting in the chair in the kitchen. Him on his knees in front of her, his arms around her waist, his face pressed against the juncture of her thighs, breathing in the smell of her as her scent changed from warm and quiet to hot and aroused.

He turned away from Tassle, not sure if he should curse himself, curse Marian, curse Jaenelle, or curse the wolf for asking the question.

Because that was the question, wasn’t it? One look at Marian and everything in him had sharpened with interest, had churned toward desire. If he’d met her in any other way, he would have staked a claim. That was Protocol. That was permissible.

Warlord Princes weren’t like other men. They were passionately violent and violently passionate and far more territorial than other males. And when a particular woman intrigued a Warlord Prince sexually, he had a simple way of dealing with potential rivals: He killed them.