“Would you believe yourself if you were me—?”
“Stop talking,” he commanded softly, his palm tightening at the back of my head, tugging it forward just slightly. All it would take was one tilt of his head, one breath of surrender, and our mouths would meet. But he didn’t move any closer.
My mouth stopped moving on instinct, silenced not by obedience but by sheer sensory overload. And then, without thinking—because I couldn’t not—I darted out my tongue and ran it slowly over my bottom lip, left to right, wetting the place where his eyes lingered.
His gaze followed the movement as his fingers curled tighter into my hair.
“You’re reckless,” he murmured, voice low and molten. “You walk into places you shouldn’t. Every time.”
I wanted to shoutThen stop me.I wanted him to drag me back across every line I’d crossed. My body screamed for it, knowing very well I’d regret these thoughts later.
My voice scraped out, dry and hoarse. “So what?”
Thrax pulled me in, the distance between us dissolving. He dipped his head, just enough that his mouth hovered above mine, breath grazing my skin. “One day,” he whispered, “I’ll make sure you won’t be able to walk out of here on your own.”
“Not today?” I teased, enjoying this a little too much.
His grip at the back of my head didn’t ease. He held me still, held me captive with just a hand in my hair, his breath warm against my cheek, body radiating heat like a storm held in flesh.
He didn’t kiss me.
He didn’t let go either.
His eyes fluttered shut, and when he finally spoke, it was a command barely holding together. “Leave.” But his hand still fisted my hair. His jaw was clenched. Everything about him screameddon’t go, while his voice whispered the opposite.
“Let me go then,” I said softly.
His grip tightened.
“Don’t come in here again.”
“Why?”
“Don’t. Just.”
I could’ve walked away. A normal person would’ve taken the hint, left the room, and never looked back. But I was too curious to be normal.
“You can’t just tell me not to—”
My words faltered when my eyes fell.
The edge of his robe had parted near his chest. And there, carved across his skin like a canyon, was a scar. It was deep, open and brutal. Unhealed in a way that had nothing to do with flesh.
Without thinking, my hand reached out. I tugged his robe down just enough to see more.
And what I saw made my breath die in my throat.
The scar wasn’t a normal scar. It was inhuman—nothing on earth could have caused it.
Thrax grabbed my wrist and snatched my hand off his chest, stepping back from me like my touch had burned him. He yanked the robe closed with a swipe of his arm, covering the ruin I’d dared to look at. My hand was still suspended in the air, unsure whether to reach again or apologise.
Something inside my own chest cracked. It cracked and broke and I couldn’t contain the pieces. I couldn’t explain it, couldn’t explain why.
Tears slid down my cheeks without warning. I didn’t even know why. I didn’t understand why the sight of that scar was shattering something inside me.
But the grief I was feeling didn’t feel like mine alone.
It was deeper, deeper than I could ever reach. Almost as if it wasn’t me crying. It was something inside me. Something sorrowful and full of guilt. What was this? Why was I shedding tears?
