Taming My Time-Traveling Lover in My Bed: The Savage King

l hit he

hets she kept in the linen closet. It was thick, metallic, and raw. It coated

air conditioning hummed its steady rhythm, but a strange chill

adjust her position, and her fin

fr

ic under her palm, clinging to her skin. A s

her hand back, sitting bolt upright in the bed.

ched out blindly, her fingers finding the brass lamp on the nightstand. She

ic

pace, stinging her eyes. S

, wet, st

oo

the bed she had bought just last week at Sotheby's-the supposed final resting place of some long-dead European king-and it dominate

drifted t

ay besi

ed like a costume-dark velvet coat, gold embroidery, heavy fabrics that belonged in

d groan esca

that desperately wanted to come out. She couldn't make a sound. She could only

. Right ther

out. She had to

nch by inch. Her feet touched the cold hardwood fl

on the leg of a

as

wood smacking against the

s eyes f

e color of winter ice. And they wer

eath, his hand shot out. He grabbed s

hed in the

board, ignoring the wound in his abdomen that immediately started gushing fres

t directly a

hisper, but the authority in it was abs

ip of the sword was less than an inch from her ski

A cosplayer? A lunatic escapee from a psych ward

e gold thread was actual gold. The sword wasn't plastic;

e air purifier humming in the corner, the electric

emanded, the sword inching

erine choked out, her voice barely a whisper.

its toll. His face was ashen, his lips tinged

ll her, or he was

dy Bedroom Brawl." Her family's name, her name, dragged through the mud. The scandal would be a stain she could never wash out. That thought, th

icy stare. She raised her hands

e steadier than she felt. "You're going t

owed, but he

, taking a tiny risk,