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Evrardin watched her from the doorway. Mara had locked herself in the library with her dusty tomes for the past day and night after she and the captain returned from Dalhurst. She fell asleep at one of the desks, her face squished against sprawled-out books.

She knocked her chair over when she stood, darting out of the library with a tome tucked under her arm. When she made it to the library’s exit, she crashed into the one person she apparently dreaded seeing. “What are you doing here?” she hissed at Evrardin who had been leaning against the archway, arms crossed over his broad chest.

He furrowed his brows, taking notice of the tome she clutched tightly, and he wondered if she thought he might rip it from her hands.

“Never mind,” she added before he could respond.

She took off down the halls, heading back to her rooms. Evrardin followed, calling out to her.

She ignored him, and he huffed his annoyance as he trailed her. He knew in the halls, out in the open, wasn’t the best place to talk anyway. He’d wait till they could be more secluded.

She went to shut her door, but Evrardin kicked his foot in the archway, stopping it before it could close fully.

She groaned, backing away and throwing her book on her desk in defeat. Evrardin crept in after her and shut the door.

“What do you want?”

“Feisty, today, aren’t we?” he taunted.

She pursed her lips and spun to face him. “Did you tell him?”

Evrardin’s face remained stoic knowing she’d ask him this, but it still left a sour taste in his mouth. “I didn’t.”

She let out a shallow breath. “Good.”

“But,” he began. Mara’s head snapped back to attention. “He asked me to fetch you. He wants to see your progress, you know, with the wedding tomorrow. I’m afraid he’ll?—”

“The wedding is tomorrow?” she asked aghast.

Evrardin tilted his head. “Yes,” he said hesitantly, unsure if she was truly asking him or being sarcastic.

Her eyes moved around her room and tears began to well. Evrardin entered her space and tilted her head up toward him. His thumb wiped her tears—something he had no business doing—and she choked out a laugh. “Who would have guessed the prince’s lethal captain could be so benevolent.”

Evrardin’s jaw tightened. “If you’re worried about glassfairing again?—”

She cut him off, shaking her head meekly. “I don’t want to marry him,” she sobbed. She closed her eyes. Evrardin half-expected to mock her and tell her she was being puerile again; worrying about being wedded to a handsome prince and not the actual thing that could kill her—though, maybe they were one and the same. But instead, his hand fell from her cheek.

She opened her eyes to look at him and his gaze had averted to her side window, like something out there was far more entertaining than the crying princess in here.

“I’m sorry,” he started.

“For what?”

He wanted to tell her. He wanted to express how he felt. To tell her something real— anything . To let her know he didn’t hate her or that he didn’t want to hurt her. He wanted to save her from all this. He wanted to tell her how much royalty contradicted everything he stood for, how she had been nothing but a spoiled brat in his eyes since the beginning, but as he grew fond of her, he no longer felt that hatred for something she couldn’t control. He’d give anything to let her remain an untouched princess. But his lips were permanently sealed.

His mouth opened but nothing came out, shutting it again.

She smiled, the tears stopping, but their streaks still marring her face. “You can’t tell me,” she surmised.

He gave her a wistful look.

Her eyes lit up in realization in return. Mara strolled around Evrardin and pushed the drape off her floor-length mirror. Evrardin watched her silently as her fingers splayed along the surface. She gestured her head to call the captain over. With uncertain steps, he stood tall beside her, both of them peering at their reflection in the mirror. Her dress a soft blush, flowing freely around her skin, the weather exceptionally warm today. Him in his typical gear, though he lacked any armor, his sword always on his hip. Both of their faces tired, their eyes trying desperately not to scan over one another’s bodies.

Mara pondered for a moment before beginning her line of questioning. “Are you sorry for something you’ve already done?”

Evrardin looked away from their reflection and down at the princess, his brows knitted together. “Mara?—?”

She cut him off, shaking her head slightly. “Look in the mirror,” she said softly. “Cofsi believed I could perform more magick than just glassfairing.”

He opened his mouth to argue, hesitating, but he followed through with her commands.

His hackles rose as she rested her hand on the surface, the mirror becoming gel under her fingertips. He thought it might be so easy for her to push her hand inside, to glassfaire, but rather, she studied Evrardin’s reflection. He was about to speak, to ask her what the hell they were doing when Mara gasped.

“What?” he asked impatiently, his eyes flickering to her hand, wondering if she was being harmed by the mirror again.

“You answered,” she whispered, not able to remove her eyes from Evrardin’s reflection.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Princess?”

She closed her eyes in annoyance before tilting her head to speak directly at him. “Have you ever heard of the stories they’d tell of the Glass People? How they reside on the other side of mirrors, a haunting reflection of the person in the living realm.”

Evrardin didn’t respond, confused as to where she was going.

Mara huffed. “I share the Glass King’s blood, just as Acastus shares the Sun King’s. I’m able to connect to the Veil and see your true reflection; the reflection your counterpart mimics back”—a beat passed—“at least, I think that’s why I’m able to do this.” She watched him in the mirror attempt to process her words. “He’s the opposite of you.”

His nose scrunched in irritation before marveling at her. “So, you can see…?”

“I can see your true answers. Your reflection isn’t bound to the prince like you are.”

His eyes narrowed in disbelief like he wasn’t trusting a word she said.

She looked back at the mirror. “Are you sorry for something you wish you could do, but can’t?” she asked, referring to his apologetic statement moments ago.

Evrardin tentatively faced the mirror, his mouth and head stoic.

Mara grinned. “The answer is yes.”

He figured she could have guessed that, but he didn’t have an explanation for why she would lie. So he found himself believing in her ability to connect to the Veil.

“And do you know whatever cynical plan Acastus is plotting?”

Evrardin’s eyes shied away for a moment.

“Yes, thought as much,” she spoke. “And tomorrow is more than just a wedding, isn’t it?”

He saw no movement, but Mara did. But he didn’t need to, he knew his reflection had nodded. Her leg began bouncing uncomfortably. “Am I in danger?” When her eyes locked on Evrardin’s in the mirror, she winced. He nodded. “Are you in danger?” She paused to look at him in the flesh as she asked, then turned back to the mirror, her fingers itching.

His counterpart surely nodded.

“Hells,” she cursed. “Okay. Am I in danger…”—she hesitated with her next words—“from you?”

The captain’s eyes snapped to hers.

She swallowed hard. “You didn’t move. I’m assuming you don’t know.” She glanced at him, both of them locked in one another’s corporeal gaze. “Against your will, I hope.” Her words were shrinking as she whispered them.

She regretfully glanced at the mirror to see his counterpart nod again.

“And…” she halted. Nerves had bubbled up in her throat. She looked more afraid of this next answer than she was asking if she was at risk of harm's way. Her fingers tapped along the glass’ surface, swallowing her reserves. “Do I still irritate you or have you grown to enjoy my terrible company?” She let out a mirthless laugh, unable to meet his eyes. “Tell me, Captain, have your inclinations for me changed since our first encounter? Am I still destined to be your ruination?” She gave him a sideways smile to soften the weight her feelings had on those words. She gritted her teeth like she was in agony. Was Evrardin in that same agony?

A passion he knew he should ignore forced his hands to move, grabbing her chin, and compelling her to look at him instead of his reflection, her lips parting in surprise from the contact. He didn’t want this imposter to answer for him. Even though he couldn’t verbally answer her, he could show her. Evrardin closed the distance between them and crashed his lips to hers in an abrupt, fluid movement. She yelped in surprise but immediately fell against him.

He stole the breath from her entirely, her hands shaking. He kissed her like he had been dreaming of doing this since their time in his bedroom. Like this had consumed his every thought and he was trying to memorize the way her lips felt against his, worried this was the last he’d know of them. He backed her up so her knees hit her bed and she was forced to sit. His hands rested on either side of her thighs, moving his mouth against hers more roughly now, his beard tickling her cheeks. Every single thread inside him ignited. One of his hands moved behind her, holding her bottom with a ghostly touch, his fingers playing with the fabric of her skirt.

He spoke between kisses, her hands snaking up to rest on either side of his shoulders, sighing in relief as his body overflowed with nerves. “We should”— kiss —“go find”— kiss —“Cas before he?—”

“Don’t you dare cut this short again,” she said, drawing away.

He let out a low chuckle and Mara’s cheeks bloomed a faint pink like she wasn’t used to the rich baritone of Evrardin’s real laugh.

“If I remember correctly, last time was not my fault.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. We can go find Cas if that’s what you’d rather?—”

He slammed his lips to hers, pushing her back onto her soft mattress, cutting off her snarky words. He fiddled with his belt and threw it, along with his sword, to the floor. “That is not what I’d rather be doing,” he mumbled aggressively against her mouth.

“Show me,” she challenged. “Show me what you’d rather be doing.” She pulled him closer to her and a swirl of lust at her fiery words made him growl low in his chest.

Evrardin’s hands tentatively stroked up the side of her body, his mind reeling with everything that could go wrong. She wasn’t his to have. He could never have her, not fully. He tried to block out the way he knew this would hurt her, let alone himself. He’d never even be able to tell her how he truly felt. He should stop.

His self-doubt was cut short when Mara’s fingers toyed nervously with the hem of his shirt, pulling it from where it was tucked into his trousers.

Part of him wondered if Mara was just using him as a distraction—something to keep her mind off glassfairing again and forced into a loveless marriage tomorrow. If he was a better man, he’d stop what he was doing. But he never claimed to be a good man.

Evrardin sat back slightly, breaking their kiss, and pulled his shirt over his head. Mara bit her lip, her breath catching in her throat as the light seeped in from her window, cascading over his chest, making it glow with evening gold. Pale and long-since-healed scars cut through his chest, marring him all over, a constant reminder of all the terrible things he’d endured. He wanted to tell her about them, but somehow, even with all that was currently unfolding in the small of her room, that felt too intimate.

He was gentle as he nestled himself between her legs, her dress hiked up, exposing the softness of her thighs just above her stockings. His calloused hands palmed the flesh before tentatively shoving her skirt until the apex of her thighs was exposed to him. She flushed pink, just like the lyre flowers Evrardin tended to.

He admired her figure, the gentleness of her. The way her hips curved, and her chest rose in rapid breaths. The soft beauty of her stunned him. Her legs squeezed together on instinct but were blocked by his waist. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she was, but the words were lodged in his throat. Instead, he came down to place kisses along her thigh, leaving a trail as he went higher and higher and ? —

“Evrardin,” she whispered.

“Yes, Princess?” He looked up at her, his mouth mere inches from where he wanted it most.

Her fingers twiddled anxiously across her chest, her face flushed and lips swollen. “You’re not doing this as some cruel trick, are you? Or because Acastus is twisting your arm for some godforsaken reason?” The cadence of her voice was unstable, a rope bridge hanging on by single threads. She avoided his eyes, the vulnerability something she never appeared keen on. All her doubts laced into that question.

The exhilaration filling his chest abruptly, and against his will, shifted to an emotion unbeknownst to him. Well, not that he didn’t recognize the feeling of self-loathing and vitriol revulsion, but rather, it wasn’t familiar that he was feeling those notions toward himself because of someone else’s perception of him.

“Princess, I—” He couldn’t form the words. He desperately yearned to tell Mara that his animosity had permeated into the adulation of an admirer. “No. I am not doing this as a guile or some perverse directive from Cas.” His hand clenched her skirt. He could still see the unease behind her countenance, and it made him nauseated. There was nothing he could say, so he resolved to drowning his words in her pleasure.

He slid his hands beneath her thighs like a serpent, clutching her as he dragged her closer to him. A tiny yelp escaped her as Evrardin kissed her center. She gasped, her skirts rising to her stomach as her fingers released the fabric, her arms flying back on the mattress. All Mara had worn beneath her frock was a simple chemise and stockings, the weather too warm for anything else.

“I want this,” he murmured against her. Her hands slithered into his hair, her fingers parting his dark brown locks. I want you, was on the tip of his tongue.

She choked, trying to restrain whimpers. Her hand cupped her mouth as Evrardin kissed her intimately, her soft thighs trapping his head. She sank back onto her pillow, her noises blocked by her palm.

Evrardin pulled back slightly. “If you keep dampening those pretty lil’ sounds, I’m going to make you scream so loud, Acastus and the rest of the castle will know exactly what I’m doin’ to you.”

Mara’s eyes rounded and she swallowed hard, her hand falling to her side.

“Good girl,” he murmured before attaching his lips to her once again. He liked it when she listened almost as much as when she didn’t.

She squirmed on the bed, her fingers wiggling with the need to rise to her mouth, but she refrained. Finally, the motion of Evrardin’s tongue and the way his mustache tickled overwhelmed her, the whimpers and moans cascading out of her mouth unrestrained.

Evrardin faintly rumbled against her as he groaned in satisfaction. His hands pressed on her stomach to keep her from arching off the bed, a sly smirk on the edge of his lips at how vulnerable and messy he had the Glass Princess.

Would she be thinking about how many women he had to have been with to know how to please her this well? She moaned his name, desperate for more than his tongue.

Evrardin’s head shot up. “Fuckin’ hell,” he said breathlessly, his lips glistening and his hair disheveled. “Didn’t think I’d ever like the sound of my name.” He thought of all the times Acastus had called his name then recited out orders he was bound to follow. But the way Mara whispered his name in the secrecy of her room had unclenched something deep inside his chest.

Mara blushed, her cheeks a permanent pink.

He moved atop her, grabbing the hem of her skirts and yanking them up until she sat upward and began pulling at the laces on the back of her dress. Evrardin’s hands wrapped around her, his fingers replacing Mara’s. He undid the ties, his eyes challenging hers in battle as he studied the landscape of her face.

“Beautiful,” he mumbled.

When he got to the final lace, her dress sleeves hung loosely over her shoulders and exposed her collarbones. He licked his lips unconsciously. Mara shyly slid the dress from her body until Evrardin impatiently tore it from her.

She gasped at the cold of the room as it wisped over her bare chest. She was entirely without clothes except for the stockings that were now bunching down her thighs.

Evrardin settled on top of her better and she was forced to lay prone, staring helplessly and wistfully up at him. If he had imagined this moment a month ago, he’d think he’d have her bent over a desk, taking her without remorse, not caring what came afterward. He never thought he’d feel something this strongly for a spoiled princess. He didn’t want to flip her around and make things quick, searching for his own release that wouldn’t ever provide him with the relief he sought. He wanted to take his time. To go slow. To soak her in. He almost moaned looking down at her; the way she was sprawled back to his mercy, not fighting him for once, her hair in loose waves decorating her pillow. Her lips red and swollen. Her cheeks a lustful pink. Her body exposed for him and him only .

His hands halted all movement when his eyes trailed along the chain of her necklace, down to the red rubies poised as blood that hung just above the swell of her breasts. She was Acastus’. Evrardin was about to betray all he stood for, destroy his vows, and besmirch the Crown Prince’s betrothed. The man he was sworn to protect. He fisted her hair, his eyes darkening as he stared at the charm. Mara’s lips parted, a quiet breath escaping.

“Tell me to stop,” he pleaded softly. His eyes flickered to hers and the light waned behind them, taking her in. He asked her like it was painful for him to do so. That if she didn’t, he was going to break, shredded at the seams.

“Why? It’s not like my words can stop you. Not like his can.”

“You know,” he began, his thumb brushing her cheek, “I still listen to other people on occasion, even if I’m not forced to carry out their will.”

She hesitated. “Do you want to…? Stop, I mean.” Her face contorted with trepidation, almost afraid to ask the question.

“No,” he gave a mirthless laugh, and Mara’s cheeks warmed. “I think it might kill me if I do. But, Princess, I don’t want you to?—”

“Since when does it matter what I want?” she said, almost playfully. Evrardin didn’t take her jest in the same lighthearted way she spoke them. As much as he yearned to shed light on her privileged standing, he didn’t want to see her shifting into self-loathing.

His eyes narrowed, his thumb no longer stroking her cheek delicately. “ Liten rev , I?—”

She cut off his sorrowful words. “Please,” she begged. “Make me forget.”

“You sure?” he asked. He spoke the words to Mara, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he was also asking himself. He was leading himself straight into a masochist affliction riddled with untouched emotions that would rise to the surface and drown him in an ocean of madness. He wanted to chastise himself for being so altiloquent, but his feelings that started slow were now vehement and ruthless. She was dragging him in every direction, shaking his core—which had long since been buried—loose, and she was as good as blind to it.

She nodded, her hair staticky as it rubbed against her silken pillow.

His hand caressed the edge of her face and Mara leaned into the touch. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so gentle with another person. He had become so used to the weapon Acastus made him out to be that he forgot contact between two people could be anything but violent and brimming with savage lust.

His other hand twisted down between her legs, and she gasped. Evrardin’s eyes darkened. “A soul destined to ruin,” he whispered his prophecy, his lips just barely brushing across her own. “And my ruination you have become.”

He remembered his words at the masquerade when he bitterly told her she was destined to ruin him. To be his downfall. How he had spoken those words like a curse, but now he recited them like this was the only thing he had ever wanted in life.

Gooseflesh rose along Mara’s neck and trailed down to her arms. He left a ghost of a kiss on her cheek before he loomed over her again. His fingers left her to fumble with his trousers, pushing them off, surprised he had the patience to slide them down and not shred them straight from his waist.

He gripped himself in his fist and lined himself up with her. He hesitated when he caught sight of the worry in her eyes. Evrardin was much taller and broader than Mara. It only made sense that he’d be larger in all aspects. “I’ll go slow,” he told her.

She nodded. Her fingers dug into his biceps, waiting anxiously for what was to come.

Evrardin notched himself between her thighs and his hand moved to rest beside her face on the mattress. His fingers slid into her hair, squeezing, as he edged himself inside slowly. His dark eyes found hers, searching her face for any regret or remorse. When he found none, relief coursed through him.

He almost wanted to ask her if she had done this before, but he figured it would be best not to. If she said yes, he knew he’d surge with unjustified jealousy. And if she said no… Well, it didn’t really matter—he was going to take his time with her regardless.

Mara’s eyes fluttered as he sank in further. “I hurtin’ you?” he asked through bated breaths.

Mara shook her head. “No. Keep going. Please.”

Evrardin obliged, analyzing her face each time he surged forward, ready to stop the moment she showed signs of discomfort.

Then he sank inside her to the hilt. “Fuck,” he growled. He looked between their bodies and a chill pebbled across Mara’s skin when he groaned in his throat. “So fuckin’ tight,” he mumbled absentmindedly.

Bolts of fire filled his stomach. Mara bucked her hips upward and Evrardin’s eyes snapped back to hers.

“Careful, Princess,” he tsked. “I’m barely holdin’ back as it is.” His northern accent heavier with his deep and breathless words.

“Then don’t,” she baited sweetly.

Evrardin’s eyes softened, his fingers mixing with her hair. “You don’t know how badly I wanna. But not this time.” He wanted to take her how he pleased, but not right now. Not for their first time together—he wanted to be slow and easy for her just as desperately.

She didn’t comment on the fact that his words implied there would be a next time and he was glad for it. Before she could think much more of it, Evrardin began to pull out of her, gently. Her nails dug into his back as he pumped into her. He was slow in his movements, pulling out a little farther with each jerk of his hips. “God. The amount of times I’ve imagined this,” he cursed under his breath when Mara spasmed around him.

Her legs wrapped tightly over his hips, helping to pull him against her each time he bottomed out. “Tell me how it feels,” he all but growled. Desperate to know if she withered in pain or pleasure.

“S’good,” she slurred, her breath catching.

He smirked then started a steady rhythm, the faint echo of their bodies coming together filling the room. Her cheeks turned red, and he hoped no one was outside her door to hear—he hadn’t locked it.

Mara rolled her head to the side in obscene ecstasy. Evrardin’s calloused hand slid over her chest and palmed at her breast. He wanted to tell her how fucking good she felt. Better than anything he had felt before. But those were words forbidden by his prince. And the way she felt now, Evrardin was worried this desire was destined to be insatiable.

The twinkle of blood-red glistened as the light poured into the room at the perfect angle to hit the rubies of Mara’s necklace. Evrardin’s brows furrowed in anger, irate that Mara could never be his.

Shit. Did he want her to be his?

Yes.

Yes . He very much wanted that.

His movements became harsher, trying to drown out the raging, unfurrowing emotions happening inside him.

Mara yelped as he became more forceful, her arms clutching around him, holding on for dear life. Her jaw hung slack, unable to form coherent words as Evrardin got lost inside his mind.

Mara’s soft, thoughtless murmurs pulled him back to the present, his hand finding her cheek and turning her head back in line with his so they could lock eyes. This was far more intimate than anything he had ever done with another woman before, and he let out a shuddering breath he hoped Mara didn’t notice.

He kept his hand locked lightly around her neck, his fingers splaying up over her jaw like vines, determined to keep her from shying away. He wanted to see in her eyes what he was doing to her. And knowing he couldn’t speak it, he wanted Mara to see what she was doing to him just the same.

Mara gasped when Evrardin adjusted angles slightly, her eyes fluttering, wanting to close as she focused on the pleasure.

“Mara,” Evrardin said in a harsh tone.

Her eyes fluttered open again.

“Keep your eyes on me.” He never spoke this much during sex, never felt the need.

She opened her mouth, the snarky protest forming behind her eyes, but Evrardin thrusted in rather powerfully at the same time and a moan escaped her lips instead, her nails digging into him.

“I want to watch as you come undone.”

Maybe she would have said something along the lines of What makes you so sure you have the skillset to undo me? But would she dare? Knowing it would be a blatant lie that would likely make him laugh? With the sounds he was emitting from her, there was no way to hide the fact that she was losing herself. Deep whimpers and sharp yelps muffled behind Mara’s teeth with each of his animalistic thrusts. She nodded.

He felt her growing close, her muscles clenching, Evrardin groaning in response to her body. He wanted to have her every which way, but he was lacking the ability to control himself; to come to a stop long enough to throw her into a new position. This was it, both of them nearing the edge so fast, and he didn’t care.

“Will you kiss me?” she whispered to him. Her cheeks immediately went crimson, shocked she muttered those words at all. She looked like she wanted to correct herself—apologize even—when Evrardin’s mouth slanted over hers.

His fist tightened in her hair as he moved his lips against hers in heady need. Mara tilted her chin up higher, letting his tongue slip into her mouth. She groaned in the back of her throat unabashedly. His other hand slid up her chest, surely leaving marks as he roughly pawed at her.

“M’not gonna last”— grunt —“much longer,” he managed through clenched teeth. “I won’t finish inside, liten rev ,” he tried to reassure her. He was determined to have enough control to at least do that much.

She shook her head, her ankles locking behind his back. “Don’t leave me,” she hissed.

His pupils blew, his eyebrows narrowing as he tried to restrain the sheer pleasure he got from those words. “Fuckin’ hell,” he cursed, his fist clenching her hair tighter, his lips meeting hers again. “That mouth,” he scolded, knowing she ruined him for anyone else.

“I never want anyone else’s mouth on mine again but yours,” she said faintly, her voice rising in octave as he moved.

He lost it. His brows knitted as he watched her flush across her entire chest. How she went embarrassed at her confession even as he was ravaging her. “I want to watch you come for me, Princess,” he coaxed softly.

He felt her clench tightly in response. And with several more thrusts, his hand slipping between their bodies, his finger circling her, that was finally her undoing.

She clenched wildly around him. He couldn’t stop thinking of her ramblings. If she truly meant them, or if she spoke them in the spur of the moment, lost to the warmth.

His scruff tickled her as he pulled back, his lips still ghosting hers, breathing heavily as he made feral noises, following close behind her, unable to hold back even if he wanted to with how fiercely she tightened. How wildly she spasmed around him.

“Seven fuckin’ hells,” he groaned deeply enough that his words were almost unintelligible. She pulsed so fervently around him he thought he might black out. His hand fisted her bed sheets, trying to control himself as he rutted several more times, giving her everything he had.

He might have stopped to wonder why his other escapades never felt like this, but his mind was preoccupied solely with the princess squashed beneath him.

She gasped for air, her hands on either side of his cheeks, sharing the same breath as he steadied himself.

His half-lidded eyes danced between hers before he fully collapsed on top of her. He buried his head in her neck, his hair tickling her face. He kissed the spot where her shoulder hugged her nape, muttering something against her skin too quietly for her to make out.

He rolled off of her to the side, regretfully leaving her warmth, making her sigh with a high-pitched breath, letting them both find control in their racing hearts. He looked over at her and his breath got locked in his throat. She was breathtaking. Her brows were lined with sweat, her legs still languidly separated for his viewing pleasure, her chest rising and sinking rapidly. His eyes glazed over as he took in her ransacked appearance—messy, and all his doing.

Her beauty infuriated him. The way he had never seen a more heavenly sight than that of Mara overspent, her hand aimlessly clutching his without realizing as she tried to collect herself. He didn’t deserve her or the bliss that just ensued between them. He had never thought something like this could be more than just carnal desires, but the way his heart raced and his fingers twitched in her small grasp told him otherwise.

His eyes moved downward, tracing over the shiny metallic surface of the necklace she wore symbolizing Cas’ ownership over her. Over them both. Evrardin sat up with a grunt.

She was not his to have.