Chapter Twenty-Six
By the fifth candidate, he was weary. He mentally rewrote his script at least a dozen times to specifically avoid the useless droning of every female who entered his study.
He didn’t even have the energy to greet this one at the door.
“Laura, was it?”
He sat back down, not bothering to brush her skin as he ran a hand through his hair.
He literally couldn’t. This woman was covered from head to toe in clothing–only her face and hair showing.
He offered her a small smile.
“Would you like to remove your jacket?”
He didn’t make motions to try to assist her, already knowing the answer as she glared at him.
“I’m fine.”
“Alright. Thank you for coming. So you’re the second candidate from Pack Grayson.”
Her face didn’t give any acknowledgment of the fact. *Moving on.*
“I’d love to know your thoughts on the current climate of shifters.”
At this, she appeared to consider his question, even opening her mouth, before thinking better of it. At least she’d stopped glaring.
“I don’t know,” she settled on.
Rowan shifted positions, noting her slight flinch.
“Relax, I won’t eat you,” he chuckled.
He reached forward, filling the empty glass in front of her with wine.
She eyed it wearily.
“Free of wolfsbane, I assure you. And my deepest apologies on behalf of my humorless cousin.”
He waited.
Looking at her this close, even in the dim light of his study–and her humorous attempt to wrap herself mummy style–she was pretty. Anyone at first glance would easily gloss over her features, muted by the dull shades of her hair and eyes–eyes that exuded..*fear?*..–but she was a step above the majority of the other candidates look-wise. Though, she’d be prettier if she relaxed her face from its agitated state.
“I’m sure you have at least a few opinions, given your inability to shift?” He watched her intently, holding back a chuckle as she appeared to shrink into her seat.
Seconds ticked as she warred visibly with what to say, her bottom lip taking the brunt.
He sipped the wine, feeling the warmth seep into his body. He frowned, suddenly eighty percent sure it wasn't spiked.
“I do have a concern. A first-hand experience before coming here.” Her small voice pulled his attention.
“I will be meeting with your mother the day after tomorrow to discuss it, but I don’t see why I can’t also share it with you,” her voice trailed to a mutter, “maybe something can be done faster.”
Her tone piqued his interest, clearing the fog of the wine–though her lips moving did little to help his focus.
“Your Highness, there’s an organized group of professionals who–”
*Bam.*
The door to his study opened.
*Not a knock to proceed.*
Had he been alone, he would’ve released an Alpha-toned warning, but a glance at the small female stopped him. He didn’t want to test Laura’s ability to withstand it.
Heels carried in their direction, stopping to stand just before the sitting area where they were seated.
“Morgan.” His voice bled with annoyance.
***
She looked her up and down.
Laura, after deciding to share important information with Prince Rowan, was interrupted by this peacocking bimbo.
She *was* gorgeous though. Dark hair spilled over the curve of her breast, and her hips were well-defined in the *‘modest’* secretary outfit she wore. Her face was picturesque. Any male would find it hard to look away from her, especially when she stared so invitingly.
Laura glanced at the prince–and almost scooted away. His eyes, burning brighter than a moment before, cut a path of lava in the direction of the woman–a very short path, considering how close she stood to him. His irritation seemed to stop just short of a snarl.
“If it couldn’t wait, you wouldn’t be this calm.” His tone was sweet.. scarily so as his features took a harder look.
Laura eyed the woman–Morgan–her brow rising as the woman’s face flushed, her features contorting into a perverted mask.
Suddenly, Laura felt like the intruding body.
“I only came to pass you this–from your uncle.”
Prince Rowan took the folder without so much as a glance.
“You’re excused.” He still didn’t look the least bit friendly.
Laura’s eyes flicked back to Morgan, who seemed to acknowledge Laura’s presence for the first time. Laura quirked an eyebrow.
She must’ve gotten whatever confirmation she needed, as the little psycho smiled–exposing her canines.
It was clearly a cue, and Laura wasn’t interested in playing witness to whatever may be about to go down with the two of them. She rose, excusing herself, before hustling for the door.
“We weren’t finished.”
His accent was heavier.
She looked back to see Morgan–her face hidden from the prince’s view–glaring at her, her mouth open in a silent snarl.
*What the fuck? You can have him.*
She almost said it out loud, but yellow eyes paid her too much attention.
“That’s okay, we can discuss it later.”
Laura would be meeting with the queen, so it didn’t matter either way.
She quickly put the door between them, her body sagging in relief when she wasn’t chased or called back.
Laura left the royal’s wing as fast as her feet could carry without looking suspicious.
She could finally rip off her sundress in peace in the comfort of her room.
***
“That was fast.”
“*Fuck*.”
Evelyn was lounging on the lower half of the bed, white hair spilling down its side.
“Isn’t there, like, a curfew?” Laura turned and made for the bathroom, hearing Evelyn shuffle to follow.
“Your heat is more important,” she countered, “but it doesn’t seem like my concerns were needed.”
She could feel Evelyn’s eyes narrow.
“Well, maybe it turns out releasing sexual tension helps keep the heat away.” Laura looked everywhere other than Evelyn.
“Hm.”
Laura focused on the water filling the tub. She was truly shocked herself, but the small tingles of pleasure she felt right now told her it wouldn't be a long-lived solution.
“If you need me–”
*Call me.*
She finished in Laura’s mind.
Laura nodded her thanks as she succumbed to the heat of the bath, listening as Evelyn quietly closed the door.
She rested her head on the rim of the tub–when she really should’ve bashed it.
Tomorrow's stresses could only match or surpass today’s.