Page 40 of Stolen
And suddenly, I care.
My frown deepens, unbidden. A crack in the composure I’ve spent a lifetime perfecting.
I’m not supposed to care what a mortal thinks of me.
I’m not supposed to crave the way she looks at me now.
Like she wants to understand, not just survive.
I tell myself this is still a game. A strategy.
I tell myself that once I’ve completed the mating bond and claimed the crown, the feelings will fade.
But the lie tastes bitter in my mouth.
And my Dragon—ancient, primal, unchainable—rumbles low with a single, insistent truth.
She is mine.
My viyella.
And I want her to know all of me.
I want her to choose me.
No. I must stop this.
I will not let myself get sentimental.
That way lies weakness. Attachment.
And I have no time for either.
I will woo her, mate her, and claim the crown.
Then she’ll be cared for.
Kept. Adored, if she wishes.
But nothing more.
Nothingemotional.
My steps slow as I approach.
Her scent reaches me now—warm cream and shea butter with a hint of human anxiety and something wilder beneath.
Something that stirs the Dragon inside me.
When I step farther inside, I find she is not alone.
She’s standing beside Shade, one of my most loyal stewards.
The Demon is carefully shelving a row of fragile glass-bound volumes, but her attention is split.
Clearly she is fascinated by the mortal chattering beside her.
Jules is smiling.
