Page 84 of Stolen
“Oh my fuck! My hair. What is going on with my hair? ALARIC!”
That’s the first thing out of my mouth once I can string two coherent thoughts together after Alaric rocks my entire nervous system into blissful, obliterated goo.
Not once.
Not twice.
Okay, maybe three times, if we’re being honest.
But semantics aren’t the point here.
The point is—what the fuck happened to my hair?
I scramble toward the edge of the bed, grabbing the gilded hand mirror that lives on the nightstand like it’s going to save my life.
And what do I see?
Gray.
Okay, not really.
More like silver.
Freaking silver streaks. Like tinsel and glitter, but prettier.
Tons of them shimmer right through my previously all-dark, healthy, glossy-brown hair that I’ve always—quietly, not obnoxiously—loved.
I’m not especially vain. But come on. I had good hair! And now?
I’m rocking what looks like early-stage magical girl menopause.
“I mean it, Alaric,” I snap, turning toward him. “What the hell is this?”
“Streaks of starlight,Myrrin. The mark of the Lords of the Eyrie. Now we match,” he drawls from the bed like he’s auditioning to be the cover model ofFantasy Sultan Quarterly.
One of those silk sheets is slung across his hips in a lazy V, but otherwise?
Seven full feet of smug, muscled, tattooed Demon Dragon Lord is on full, glorious display.
I hate how good he looks.
Like, viscerally.
It’s not fair. I never look that good.
“And I disagree. You look fucking amazing,” he adds with a grin that’s pure sin, reclining back on his elbows like my minor existential crisis is foreplay.
I narrow my eyes. “Fine. Not gray hair. Silver streaks. But why? I mean, who authorized this?”
“Magic,” he answers, completely unbothered. “The Eyrie. The Fates. Me. The zareth. Take your pick. You’re mine now, and Nightfall doesn’t want anyone to doubt it or to forget it. Well, something like that.”
I throw a pillow at his head.
It bounces off harmlessly.
“Come back to bed,” he says, extending a hand in that smooth, confident way of his.
Like sin with a side of smirk.
