Page 23 of Emylia

His gaze didn’t so much as flicker as he held my stare—unfazed. Unreadable. Silently studying me, like he was trying to decide if I was a threat or temptation.

Maybe both.

And for a second—just a breath—his eyes softened. The hard glacier-blue flickering, like something wild stirred beneath the surface. Not enough to be certain. But enough to make me forget how to breathe.

Whoa.

What was wrong with me?

I was practically drooling over a perfect stranger.

That was crazy, especially for me.

I was the last person in the world who went crazy over guys, except maybe Sebastian. But he was on a level of his own.

Okay, fair enough—this guy was overbearingly tall, dark and freaking smoking. The worn fabric of his sleeves barely hid the muscles underneath—sinewy and strong, carved by strength and tempered through something that looked a lot like trial and pain. His abs were ridiculous. His chest? Impossible to miss. Not even his jet-black shirt could hide that level of sculpted sin.

Still.

That was no excuse.

Taking a deep breath, I decided to be logical and focus on the facts. He must’ve been passing through Ophelia and decided to stay for the Goddess festival. He had probably wormed his way into staying with Sebastian—they already seemed well acquainted, and Uncle Thrainn had a weakness for strays. Case and point: Sebastian. He’d lived with my uncle for over a decade—ever since losing both his parents.

I knew I should say something instead of staring at him like a freak, but what could I say without sounding like an idiot?

A simple hello seemed too trivial, too tame.

And I wasn’t about to hand him the satisfactionof knowing he’d rattled me.

Not that I could form a coherent sentence anyway. My brain had abandoned all logic and tangled itself in chaos, and I was doing a terrible job of pretending otherwise.

There was a quiet authority in the way he moved, like the world was brought to its knees without needing a command.

He wiped his brow, his mouth tugging into something that wasn’t quite a smile—more like a shadow of one—an unreadable flicker barely decipherable in his expression.

With slow, precise grace, he crossed his arms over his chest–the movement coiled in quiet control. There was nothing rushed in the motion. Nothing casual. Just that same quiet power, like he was always on the edge of doing something violent, but hadn’t decided who deserved it yet.

Completely obliterating.

And undeniablyhim.

I fought the pull, forced myself not to stare—but his eyes, glacial and unyielding, held mine like they already knew too much.

Something tugged at me from within, deep and dangerous, and heat crept up my neck before I could stop it.

But I didn’t melt.

I didn’t run.

I held his gaze like it was a challenge.

Josephine took my inability to respond as as an invitation to invade his personal space, her arms wrapping around one of his behemoth arms as if he belonged to her.

His movement was instant. Subtle, but unmistakable. A quiet shift of muscle, as if her touch had scorched him. He didn’t just recoil—he rejected it, rejectedher.

The air between them crackled, charged with an energy that almost visibly fractured.

Maalikai’s scowl was instant, coated so thickly in a layer of malice that I almost flinched.

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