Page 62 of The Naga Lord's Pretty Little Mouse

He does not need to.

My heart pounds against my ribs, the space between us thick with something neither of us understand.

"Let me go, Xirath."

A low growl slips from his throat, vibrating through the room.

"You are not leaving."

Something inside me snaps.

"Then tell me why!"

Golden eyes burn through me, rage crackling beneath his skin. The tension between us swells, thick and suffocating.

Then his hands are on me.

The shift happens too quickly, the heat of his palms branding my skin as he yanks me forward.

His grip is firm, unrelenting, but his touch does not bruise.

My breath stalls, heart smashing against my ribs.

The space between us vanishes.

The growl rumbling in his chest sends a shudder through my bones. "Do you truly wish to test me, little mouse?"

Something shatters between us.

His mouth crashes against mine, brutal, demanding, unyielding.

Flames lick along my spine, heat pooling deep in my core. The kiss is not gentle, not sweet. It is a battle, a war of teeth and breath and unspoken fury.

I hate him.

I hate how his touch sets me on fire, how his grip tightens when I push against him.

I hate that I do not pull away.

His lips part, sharp fangs grazing my bottom lip. The taste of blood lingers, but I do not flinch.

His breath is ragged when he finally pulls away, forehead pressing against mine.

"You are mine," he whispers, voice torn between a promise and a threat.

I am drowning.

27

XIRATH

The taste of her still lingers.

Days have passed, but it remains, a phantom imprinted on my lips, in my thoughts, in the spaces I cannot reach.

She avoids me. I avoid her.

It is easier this way.

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