Page 39 of Savage Crown

Of course he does.

He closes the door behind him, slow, deliberate, like a predator deciding whether to strike.

I exhale, rolling my shoulders. "You should really change your locks."

He moves before I can blink.

One step, then another—and suddenly he’s in front of me, too close, the warmth of him pressing against my skin like a brand.

"That drawer," he murmurs, voice a thread of silk and steel, "is locked for a reason."

I tilt my head, matching his gaze. "And yet it was so easy to open."

His lips curve, but there’s no amusement there.

Only danger.

"You’re pushing me, little thief."

I lift a brow. "You started it."

Silence.

A heavy, electric silence.

He doesn’t move.

Neither do I.

And suddenly, I feel everything.

The tension coiling between us, thick and suffocating.

The sharp, measured control in the way he hasn’t touched me yet not because he doesn’t want to, but because he won’t allow himself to.

I breathe in slowly. "Who is Nhilian to you?"

His jaw tightens. "Drop it, Seraphina."

I step closer, barely a breath between us now. "What did he mean?" My voice drops, quieter. "A dead man’s skin."

Rylan goes still.

Not just his body—his breath, his presence, his very essence.

Like the air has been sucked out of the room, like something invisible and violent is unraveling inside him.

His hand moves—too fast, too reckless—and suddenly his fingers are gripping my chin, tilting my head.

I should pull away.

I don’t.

"Don’t dig where you don’t belong," he warns, his voice barely above a whisper.

But his fingers stay on me, pressing just enough to make me feel it.

Enough to remind me that this—whatever this is between us—is just as dangerous as the truths I’m trying to uncover.

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