Page 94 of The Alien's Vicious Starflash Manor

“It’s necessary,” Uanna says. “You know that.”

I do know. That’s what makes it worse.

“The twins will protect them,” Vazor repeats, his confidence unchanged. “You’ll see.”

“We should head back.” I turn away from their too-perceptive stares. “There’s much to prepare for tomorrow.”

Vazor nods his agreement. “The girls can find their own way back once they’ve explored a bit.”

We make our way toward the exit in silence, and all I can think is that I’ve sent Lara into a beautiful deathtrap. And if she dies, I’ll have to maintain my mask of cold control while everything inside me screams.

I can’t do it.

“You go ahead,” I tell the other two. “I’ll catch up in a moment.”

Uanna raises her eyebrows, but then shrugs. “It’s up to you.”

Vazor shakes his head and follows Uanna, back toward the manor.

I wait until all I can see of them are mere smudges in the moonlight. Then I slip into the maze.

The ice walls tower above me, their surfaces catching and fracturing light until it’s impossible to tell what’s reflection and what’s reality. Every breath clouds in the air, joining the mist that curls around my feet like a living thing.

I slip through paths I’ve memorized until I hear Lara’s voice. They make a wrong turn, and I slip ahead, stepping back into a dead-end path, standing deep in the shadows.

My breath clouds in sharp plumes as the firelord twins and Izzy dart ahead, their silhouettes flickering between translucent ice columns. Lara hesitates, her soft curves momentarily out of sync with the group’s movement.

Perfect.

Almost as if it was meant to be.

My hand shoots out, fingers closing around her delicate wrist. She gasps—a quick, startled sound that vibrates through my body like electricity. Before she can protest, I pull her into my narrow side passage.

“Ivrael—” she starts, but her words dissolve as I press her against the glittering wall. The cold surface behind her contrasts with the heat radiating between us.

“Silence,” I murmur, my voice low and commanding.

Her breath catches. Her pupils dilate.

She wants this as much as I do.

The frost of my fingertips traces her delicate jawline, a whisper of cold against her flushed skin. I trace the delicate line of her throat. She shudders—not from fear, but anticipation. Her breath catches—trembling, vulnerable, caught between resistance and raw desire.

Mine.

Unable to stop myself, I crush my mouth against hers. Passionate. Demanding. Claiming.

I pull back just enough to look into her eyes—those wide eyes that never fully submit, always flickering with something wild.

“You will not look away,” I command, my voice a slow glacial rumble.

Her pulse flutters at her throat. I can see it beating, hear its rapid rhythm that betrays her true hunger. For all her defiance, her body reveals what her lips will not.

I bend my head back to hers.

My tongue presses against her mouth, demanding entrance. Not asking. Commanding. A territorial invasion that makes her breath hitch—half protest, half anticipation.

The line between conquest and seduction blurs, and I am master of both.

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