Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina

For one second, Sylvia did nothing as her brain, soul, and legs had entered three separate emergency meetings, and none of them had reached a decision.

The phone was still warm against her ear.

Thomas was outside her door.

Thomas Lancaster was outside her door.

Tom was outside her door.

Rina, who had caused this entire disaster with the moral calm of an arsonist admiring a candle, looked unbearably pleased with herself.

Until the third knock came. It was not louder nor angrier, but something about it made Rina’s smile lose half an inch.

Sylvia noticed that and found that worrying.

”Open the door,” Thomas repeated.

Sylvia did.

Rina’s eyes widened.

”Sylvia—no.” But it was already too late.

Sylvia had already crossed the small hallway of her apartment, phone still clutched in one hand, face burning, heart somewhere between panic and treason. She opened the door before fear could catch up with her common sense.

Thomas Lancaster stood on the other side.

He was dressed from the meetings, a dark Rohan uniform beneath a long coat, his broad shoulders filling the doorway with the kind of impossible presence that made Sylvia’s apartment look suddenly too small and all her furniture look underqualified. His expression was calm.

Thomas Lancaster, the Bolder, had the emotional range of polished stone in public and the facial warmth of a fortress wall.

But his eyes were not calm.

They moved over Sylvia once, sharp and immediate, taking in her red face, the phone in her hand, the soft sweater, and the way she looked halfway between mortified and ready to melt into the floor.

Then he stepped inside.

Sylvia barely had time to breathe.

One arm went around her waist. The other came behind her shoulders.

And a second later she was pinned firmly against him.

Taken out of the open doorway and gathered into the warmth of his body like he had crossed the city, the corridor, and the last remaining wall of his patience for the specific purpose of removing her from Rina’s reach.

Sylvia’s brain stopped again.

This was becoming a medical pattern.

Her cheek was against his lower chest area. Her hands landed uselessly against the front of his coat. He smelled faintly of cold air, leather, and something clean and severe that made her think of ironed uniforms and rain on stone.

”Tom,” she whispered, because apparently her dignity had chosen death.

His arm tightened.

Behind her, Rina made a very small sound.

Sylvia had known Rina for several minutes of disaster now and had already learned that Rina did not make small sounds unless something had gone unexpectedly well or unexpectedly badly.

This seemed to be both.

Thomas lifted his gaze over Sylvia’s head.

Rina stopped smiling.

”Princess Gregoriana,” Thomas said. His voice was calm.

Terribly calm.

Rina stood in Sylvia’s living room, one hand still hovering near the stolen-phone battlefield, chips abandoned on the table, posture a little too straight now. ”Commander Lancaster.”

Thomas looked at her, and Rina, daughter of Emperor Otto and sister of Arion, alpha by blood and chaos by profession, took half a step back.

Sylvia noticed.

Rina noticed that Sylvia noticed.

Rina looked offended by her own instincts.

”I was helping,” she said.

Thomas’s gaze did not move. ”You stole Sylvia’s phone.”

”For romance.”

”You made her panic.”

Sylvia lifted her head quickly. ”She always makes people panic. That is not personal.”

Thomas looked down at her.

The shift was immediate.

The coldness thinned, folded back into his control enough that Sylvia felt it in her chest.

”Did she upset you?” he asked quietly.

’Oh, this is criminal,’ Sylvia thought while her cheeks were now bright red.

Rina’s mouth opened slightly.

Sylvia’s face went hot all over again. ”No. I mean yes. I mean she did, but not in a terrible way. More in a... princess-shaped disaster way.”

Rina pointed at her. ”That is slander.”

”It is accurate,” Thomas said.

Rina stared at him.

Sylvia almost laughed.

Then she remembered she was still held against Thomas’s body by one very solid arm and forgot how laughter worked.

Thomas looked back at Rina.

The room cooled again.

”I am angry,” he said, still calm, ”because you used her embarrassment to test me.”

Rina’s confidence flickered, just enough to prove she was not entirely immune to survival.

”I was not testing you.”

Thomas’s dark brown eyes pinned her with the ferocity of a predator.

”Fine. I was testing you.”

Sylvia closed her eyes.

There were moments in life when honesty was beautiful.

This was not one of them.

Thomas did not move.

That somehow made it worse.

His arm was still around Sylvia’s waist, warm and immovable, while his gaze stayed fixed on Rina with the calm, terrible patience of a man who could stand in front of a charging beast and calculate whether killing it would ruin his schedule.

Rina swallowed.

It was small.

Barely there.

But Sylvia saw it.

And because Sylvia saw it, Rina immediately looked offended again.

”I was testing you for her benefit,” Rina added, as if that improved anything.

”It did not.”

”It did a little.”

”No.”

Sylvia lifted one hand weakly. ”I would like to not be the battlefield.”

Thomas looked down at her.

Again, the change was immediate. His eyes softened, the severity folding away with such control that Sylvia felt it like a physical shift.

”You are not.”

”I feel very much like the battlefield.”

”You are the person being removed from it.”

Sylvia’s face burned.

Rina made another small sound.

Thomas looked back at her.

The sound died.

”I hate this,” Rina said, very quietly as the odds of escaping this encounter unscattered started to lower.

Sylvia blinked. ”You hate this?”

”I hate that it worked on me too.”

Thomas’s brows moved, barely.

Rina pointed at him, regaining a fraction of courage through sheer irritation. ”Do not look smug. Your face does not know how, but do not attempt it.”

Thomas sighed and moved from the doorway, Sylvia still glued to him. ”Get out before I tell Otto about your night club escapades.”