Page 70 of The Naga Lord's Pretty Little Mouse

His words scrape too close to the truth.

The tension thickens to the point of suffocation.

I push myself up, forcing distance between us. His gaze follows every movement, unreadable yet too knowing.

"Don’t make this something it’s not," I snap, hating the way my voice wavers.

Xirath does not look away.

His fingers skim my wrist, slow and unyielding. "Tell me what it is, then."

I cannot.

There is no name for what burns between us.

No rational explanation for the way my body responds to him, not as a prisoner, not as a possession, but as something else.

Something I don’t know what to name or what it even means.

A sharp inhale stings my lungs, but the words slip free before I can stop them. "This changes nothing."

A dangerous humor darkens his expression. "Then why are you trembling?"

I snatch my wrist from his grasp, ignoring the way his touch lingers beneath my skin.

Panic claws at my ribs, rising, rising, rising.

I am losing myself.

I am losing the fight.

Xirath sees it.

He sees everything.

The truth sits between us, unspoken but suffocating.

I do not hate this.

I do not hate him.

But if I admit that even for a moment there will be nothing left to protect me from the ruin waiting at the end of this path.

He lets me go.

He does not stop me when I stand, does not pull me back into the gravity of his presence.

But I feel him, watching.

A predator biding his time.

A ruler waiting for me to decide what I am willing to surrender.

The decision is not his to make.

It is mine.

I do not have an answer yet.

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