Page 17 of The Prince and His Bodyguards
The prince shakes his head.
“Nope, sorry. Our pears are yellowish-green. Mizhir,” he calls. “Can you bring a pear over? Ali’s never had one.”
His bodyguard appears with a huge, luscious fruit in hand. It’s about the size of a grapefruit, and a queer, almost luminescent yellow color.
“Here,” Ragnar says, holding the fruit to my lips. “Try it, honey. I think you’ll like it.”
I watch him for a second, but then obey. After all, I’m hungry and this pear looks juicy and sweet. The crunch of my teeth sounds loud in the room, but immediately my palate is flooded with sweetness. There’s honey, wildflower, citrus, as well as something I can’t name. In fact, it’s so good that I immediately lean in for another bite, hoping to enjoy more of this bliss.
But Ragnar pulls the fruit away.
“Slowly, sweetheart,” he admonishes. “You’re just coming out of sub-space and we don’t want you to hurt yourself. After all, our national fruit is known for its sweet, tangy quality, as well as its power as an aphrodisiac.”
I stare at the three men, and see that all of them are shooting me amused grins.
“You must be kidding.”
“No, I’m not,” Ragnar drawls. “If you get another bite of our pear, you’ll be bonded to us for life. You’ll want to follow us to bed, and then offer that sweet body to us again and again, until you’re wrung out and exhausted.”
I stare into those blue depths, unsure if he’s kidding.
“But I already did all that. Well, basically.”
Ragnar lets out a shout of laughter.
“You did, didn’t you? It’s because the juice you had at the bar was drugged with Lysenian pear extract. Not a lot, mind you, but enough to provide a good trip.”
That makes me sit bolt upright in his arms. I almost fall off his lap, but Ragnar holds me close once more.
“It’s fine, baby,” he croons. “Don’t be mad.”
But I’m angry and yank myself away from him before shooting accusatory glares at all three men.
“Who are you, to think that you can drug a strange woman and then fuck her? What the hell? Is Mike your lackey?”
Mizhir looks straight back at me, black eyes gleaming.
“I’m Mizhir, of House Lysander,” he growls.
Rizza joins in.
“I’m Rizza, of House Pembroke,” he adds. “Mikael works for us, as we stated earlier. He’s already been rewarded for his loyalty.”
“And you don’t need to worry about any aftereffects from the elixir,” Mizhir adds in a low tone. “We barely gave you anything, and you were out.”
I sputter again.
“But drugging a woman only to fuck her later, three on one? Who does that? This is a crime and I’m calling Chicago PD.”
“To tell them what?” Rizza asks, one black brow arched in amusement. “At the moment, sweetheart, you’re currently nude in our liege’s lap. You’ve been well-fucked and taken in all three holes, that’s true, so you could concoct a story about something, and someone will believe you. But what will you use to contact the police? You don’t have a phone, and our home doesn’t have a land line.”
I look around then, and realize that I don’t recognize where I am. I’d been so consumed with trying to get my bearings that I didn’t even think to take in my surroundings. But now, I realize that we’re in an ornate living room. It looks like a bit like a castle because the walls are made of heavy stone, and strung with colorful tapestries depicting mythological animals. The furniture is wooden, heavy, and square, although the couch appears to be upholstered in fine purple velvet. But there are no electronic gadgets strewn about. I thought everyone had a flatscreen these days, as well as Alexas, Ring cameras, and Roombas. But none of these devices are present, and it’s almost as if I’ve stepped back in time.
“These are our personal premises,” Ragnar drawls, still holding me close. “Welcome to our castle, Ali.”
“A castle?” I stammer, staring at a particular beautiful tapestry featuring a unicorn and a maiden. “Are we still in Chicago?”
Mizhir chuckles before taking a seat on a nearby ottoman. His huge form dwarfs the poof, and I can’t help but notice how his broad shoulders seem to grow even wider as I stare at him.