Chapter 9: Roses and Thorns

Darius Her eyes are my weakness.

I punch the bag, and the warrior on the other side clings to it to keep his balance.

I should probably let the boy rest now, but I’m fighting to get the image of her face out of my head.

How can they look so much alike? I punch harder.

Four years ago, my mate, Giana, died during the first war with werewolves. I never came across anyone with violet eyes before her.

Now a slave woman has shown up looking just like her.

I thought Giana had come back to me last night while I was drunk, but I woke up disappointed.

“Ow!” The warrior screams, landing on his ass as the bag swings so high it almost touches the ceiling.

I take a break, pulling off my gloves and grabbing a towel from the rack by the locker in my private, palace gym.

One of the slaves prepares a bath for me to cool off. I dip myself inside it, flashbacks from my night with Rose returning.

My tongue darts out, wetting my lips as I remember her struggling to resist me. I’ve never liked my women