Page 10 of Savage Crown

My breath catches. My stomach turns to ice. “What?”

His voice is infuriatingly casual. “You’re still bleeding, Seraphina. I can smell it.”

I don’t move. I can’t.

I know if I strip down in front of him, it won’t just be skin he sees—it will be the scars. The map. The past I’ve spent years trying to bury.

Rylan watches my hesitation with something dark curling behind his gaze. “Defiance is admirable, little thief,” he murmurs, voice like silk dragged over a blade. “But it’s wasted here.”

I don’t respond.

Because he’s right.

I don’t have a choice.

I lift my hands to the ties of my tunic, my fingers brushing the frayed fabric. I feel his gaze press against my skin as I pull it over my head, leaving me in the thin underlayer beneath.

The silence is suffocating.

Rylan steps closer, and everything tightens.

His fingers ghost over my side, just above the wound I barely feel anymore. Too light to be casual. Too firm to be meaningless.

I swallow hard, every muscle locking into place as he traces a path just beside the raised ridges of my scars. Scars I never let anyone see.

His voice is a whisper of heat against my skin. “You’ve been cut before.”

My breath shudders. “What does it matter?”

Rylan hums, his fingers still lingering. “It doesn’t. But it tells me something about you.”

I finally force myself to move, gripping his wrist before I can process my actions.

His gaze flicks to my hand, then back to my face. Amusement dances along his features, but beneath it—something else.

Something like… curiosity.

"You think you can stop me?" he asks, voice a quiet taunt.

I should let go. I should put distance between us. But something reckless rises inside me, something that wants to see how far I can push him.

So I tighten my grip instead. “Try me.”

For a moment, neither of us moves.

The space between us is thin as a blade, charged with something I don’t want to delve deeper into. His pulse thrums beneath my fingers, steady. Controlled.

I expect him to rip his arm free.

I expect him to remind me who has the power here.

But instead, Rylan just smiles, slow and wicked. “You don’t know what game you’re playing, little thief.”

He moves.

One moment, I have him. The next, he’s twisted free, catching my wrist and dragging me forward. My body collides with his, his heat swallowing me whole.

I hate how my breath catches. How my pulse betrays me, hammering wildly in my heart.

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