Book 4: Melting

Faye

Prince Michael sits on the side of the bed. I edge closer, holding his gaze like I’m in a trance. I can hear his heart thumping even from this distance. I can hear his blood rushing in his veins. His scent is warm and overwhelmingly comforting, adding to the dizzy feeling cascading over my body. 

I’m hungry and weak. It hurts to move like this, to try to keep my back straight in a seated position and curl my legs beneath me to essentially kneel beside him. 

He’s a large man. Large, and strong. Our size difference is almost as overwhelming as his scent, which wraps around my senses and tugs tight, making my head spin. 

“Wait,” he rushes out, catching me as I start pitching forward, my vision blurring at the edges. He lays me back against the pillows with a gentle, tender touch. I puff out a sigh as fatigue creeps back into my bones, threatening to pull me back into sleep. But then he’s beside me, pushing his arm under my sh