Page 43 of Stolen
Yes. She feels it.
I lift her hand, slow and certain, and guide it to the crook of my elbow. My other arm hovers behind her back, not touching, but close enough to claim.
“Hungry?” I ask, voice low.
Her eyes flick up, confused. “What?”
I lean in, close enough that my breath grazes the shell of her ear.
“Are you hungry,Myrrin?” I enunciate each syllable, letting her feel every word the way a body feels heat before it burns.
She doesn’t answer. Not with her mouth.
But her body,oh, her body speaks volumes.
The soft rise of her chest. The flush blooming across her collarbone.
The way her fingers twitch against my arm, tightening just a little, as if testing the tension between us.
I glance down at her, at the woman I’ve stolen from one world and dragged into mine.
She’s wrapped in silk, curves lush and inviting, eyes wide with disbelief and something she hasn’t named yet.
But I know it.
Want. Desire. Yearning.
Even if she doesn’t.
Not yet.
“Come,Myrrin,” I murmur, pulling her gently forward. “Let me feed you.”
Her gaze holds mine for one breathless second too long.
And then, slowly, she nods.
One step. Then another.
And I smile.
Because she doesn’t know it yet, but with every step she takes at my side, she steps deeper into me.
I’ve got you now, Jules Strano.
Chapter9
Jules
The Eyrie—DiningHall
The dining room in the Eyrie is like something out of a fever dream.
Polished black stone gleams beneath my booted feet. But I can still feel it somehow.
Warm and smooth, despite looking like it should be cold.
The walls are draped in massive woven tapestries—some dark and violent, others bright with gold thread—and the weirdest thing is, they move.
