Page 33 of A Kiss of Deception

His grip tightens. "That was different."

"How?"

"It just was."

I roll my eyes. "Whatever you say, big guy." Then, I cautiously add, "You seem... pleased a moment ago."

He turns to me, his expression predatory. "Why wouldn't I be? We eliminated two threats today, Meetha. Efficiently."

His words send a shiver down my spine, a mix of lust and excitement. Anyone else would be horrified, but instead, I enjoy his darkness. "And me?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. "Do I mean nothing to you too?"

His arm snakes around me, pulling me closer. His grip is possessive, almost painful. "You," he growls, "You're different."

I settle back against Milkor's chest, my body molding to his. His warmth envelops me, and I can't help but feel safe in his strong arms. The crackling fire and the steady rise and fall of his chest lull me into a peaceful state.

As we sit in comfortable silence, my fingers absently trace the outline of the ring as it rests between my breasts. Milkor's eyes follow the movement, a flicker of something—hunger? desperation?—crossing his face.

"You know," I say slowly, "we never really talked about this." I pull out the ring, watching as it catches the firelight.

Milkor tenses beneath me. "What's there to talk about?"

I turn to face him, still perched on his lap. "You said you need it to break your curse. To go home. But... what does that mean for us?"

His silver eyes meet mine, conflicted emotions swirling in their depths. "Meetha, I—" He stops, seeming to struggle with his words.

"It's okay," I whisper, even as my heart clenches. "I understand."

I pocket the ring and settle against him. Unspoken words linger, but fatigue takes over. As I doze off, I sense a shift—a subtle tension in our newfound comfort.

A chill wakes me.Something's off. Milkor's warmth is gone. I listen, eyes shut. The dying fire's crackle barely masks unfamiliar breathing.

Not my own. Someone else's. Heavy. Jagged.

A shadow falls over me, blocking what little warmth remains from the dying fire. My heart pounds, but I force myself to stay still, feigning sleep. Then I feel it—the lightest brush of fingers against my breast, seeking…

The ring.

My eyes snap open, meeting Milkor's startled gaze. For a split second, we're frozen, the weight of betrayal hanging heavy between us.

Fury ignites in my chest. I leap to my feet, nearly knocking him over in my haste.

"What the hell are you doing?" I snarl, my voice rough with sleep and anger.

Milkor straightens, his silver eyes glinting in the low light. "Meetha, I-"

"You promised!" The words tear from my throat. "You said you'd stay!"

He runs a hand through his white hair, frustration etched into every line of his face. "I will stay, but-"

"But what? You thought you'd just take the ring and run?"

Milkor's jaw clenches. "You don't understand. This form... this cursed elven flesh. I can't stand it anymore."

I laugh, the sound harsh and bitter. "Oh, I understand perfectly. You're a liar, just like every other man."

"That's not true," he growls. "I've been honest with you from the start."

"Honest?" I spit the word like poison. "You were going to steal from me while I slept!"

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