Page 39 of Caged By the Lich

He reaches out, his fingers ghosting along my jawline. I shiver at the contact, my breath catching in my throat.

"Then prove it," I whisper, leaning into his touch.

Olvaar's other hand comes to rest on my waist, pulling me closer. Our bodies are nearly flush against each other now, and I can feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

"You don't know what you're asking for," he murmurs, his face mere inches from mine.

"I think I do," I retort, my hands coming up to rest on his chest. I can feel his heart racing beneath my palm.

We're so close now, our noses almost touching. I can see every fleck of color in his eyes, every line of his face. My gaze drops to his lips, and I unconsciously lick my own.

Olvaar's grip on my waist tightens, and for a moment, I think he's going to close the distance between us. My eyes flutter closed in anticipation.

But then, suddenly, he's pulling away. The loss of his warmth is immediate and jarring.

"No," he says, his voice rough. "Not like this."

I blink, confusion and hurt washing over me. "What?"

Olvaar takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. "Go to bed, Astrid. It's late."

"But-"

"I said go," he cuts me off, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I don't... I don't want you like this. Not when you were just mad at me."

The rejection burns, and I leave without another word. I return to my room, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. As I slip into bed, I can't shake the memory of what just happened, the rejection doing nothing to cool my desire.

Mostly because I don't think he meant it.

My skin tingles as I recall our almost kiss, our sparring session, every time he's touched me. The way his hands guided my movements, firm yet surprisingly gentle. The heat of his body so close to mine. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to banish these thoughts, but they persist.

Almost unconsciously, my hand slides down my body. I bite my lip, ashamed of my body's reaction, but unable to stop. My fingers trace patterns on my skin, mimicking Olvaar's touch from our training.

"This is wrong," I whisper to myself, even as my hand moves lower. I think of Olvaar's piercing gaze, the way his eyes shiftcolor with his emotions. The raw power I felt radiating from him as we fought.

A soft moan escapes my lips as I give in to the sensations. My mind conjures images of Olvaar - his strong hands, his intense focus, the rare moments when his mask slips and I glimpse something softer beneath.

As pleasure builds, I'm struck by a sudden, terrifying realization. I'm becoming attached to him. To this demon I'm supposed to hate. The enemy who took me from my family.

But he's also the man who challenges me, respects me, protects me. The one who let my sister go to spare me pain.

My back arches as I reach my peak, Olvaar's name on my lips. In the aftermath, I lie there, breathing heavily, shame and confusion warring within me.

What am I doing? How did I end up here, fantasizing about the very demon who's holding me captive?

But even as I ask myself these questions, I know the answer. Somewhere along the line, Olvaar stopped being just my captor. He became... something else. Something I'm not ready to name.

I roll onto my side, hugging my pillow close. Sleep eludes me as I grapple with this new reality. I'm falling for Olvaar, and I have no idea what to do about it.

18

OLVAAR

Ilean back in my chair, surveying the room of advisors before me. Their faces are a mix of anticipation and fear—as they should be. But my gaze keeps drifting to Astrid, standing quietly in the corner. Her presence has become... comforting, in a way I'm not entirely comfortable with.

"The southern territories," I begin. "We need to solidify our hold there before winter sets in."

My top general, a brutish demon named Karthak, immediately launches into a tirade about troop movements and supply lines. I tune him out, my mind already three steps ahead. Instead, I find myself watching Astrid's reaction. Her brow furrows slightly, those green-gold eyes narrowing as she processes the information.

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