Get off me! Silas hissed, his voice echoing against the cold stone walls of the suite. He managed to shove his palm against Alaric's wet chest, forcing an inch of space between them. "You think because you're a Prince, you can just chain me here like a dog? I am not one of your servants, Alaric. I am a free man!"
Alaric didn't move. He stood like a mountain, his midnight-blue eyes darkening with a dangerous, rhythmic pulse. "A free man? You are a thief caught in the King's bedroom, Silas. If I open that door, the guards will tear you apart."
"Then let them take me!" Silas shouted, his dark hair wild and damp. "I'd rather die on my own terms than live in a gilded cage. You're just a tyrant with a crown."
The insult hit Alaric like a physical blow. His jaw tightened, and the air in the room suddenly turned heavy—suffocatingly so. He stopped holding back his pheromones. A thick, aggressive wave of cedar and burnt ozone flooded the room, the raw "Alpha Pressure" that only Italian royalty possessed.
Silas felt it instantly. It felt like the gravity in the room had tripled. His knees buckled, his muscles turning to water against his will.
Alaric didn't wait. He crashed his lips against Silas's in a kiss that wasn't a request—it was a claim. It tasted like rain and raw hunger. Silas tried to fight, his hands clutching at Alaric's shoulders to push him away, but the kiss was punishing, deep, and filled with the Prince's overwhelming scent.
As Alaric's tongue forced its way past Silas's teeth, the Alpha's pheromones hit Silas's nervous system like a lightning strike. The intense pressure and the heat of the kiss triggered the "Midnight Moon" heat Silas had been fighting all night. A wave of agonizing, cloying heat flooded his veins.
Silas's strength vanished. His hands, which had been pushing Alaric away, suddenly tangled in the Prince's damp shirt, pulling him closer. He let out a muffled moan into Alaric's mouth, his pride finally shattering under the biological weight of the Alpha.
When Alaric pulled back just an inch, Silas's legs gave out completely. He fell to his knees, clutching at Alaric's thighs to keep from collapsing on the floor. His eyes were glazed, his face flushed with a fever that only one man could break.
"Please..." Silas whispered, his voice a broken thread of desperation as he looked up from the floor. "Alaric... the heat... it hurts. Mark me. Just... mark me and make it stop."
Alaric looked down at the man who had just been cursing him, now trembling and begging at his feet. He reached down, his large hand tangling in Silas's hair, forcing his head back to expose the pulsing vein in his neck.
"You asked for this, Silas," Alaric growled, his own voice thick with the same madness. "Remember that when you wake up.