I opened the book.
Chapter forty-two
The Brother Who Did Not Believe
Sol
Sol's mind spun as Korin carried her into a dark hallway, his arms cradling her against the solid heat of his chest. Every thought collided with the next, a tempest of impossible truths she couldn't outrun.
Dragons cannot lie.
She'd tried to deny it. Tried to say the words—I am not your mate, I am not your queen, I am not a dragon—and her tongue had betrayed her every time. The sentences had curled and died in her throat like smoke snuffed by wind. Her own body had confirmed what her mind refused to accept.
She was like him.
She washis.
Sol shivered against Korin's chest, and the movement pressed her bare skin closer to his warmth. She should have hated the contact.
Should have recoiled from the man—thebeast—who had snatched her from everything she knew. But her body had other ideas. Her body wanted to sink into him, to let his heat seep into her bones and stay there.
What is wrong with me?
She thought of his flames that hadn't burned her. The way his fire had kissed her skin and left her gasping—not in pain, but in pleasure so sharp it had stolen her breath.
She thought of that massive tongue dragging up the length of her body, claiming every inch of her like she was already his.
And she'dlikedit.
That truth sat heavy in her chest, shameful and undeniable.
Her thighs pressed together as the memory surfaced again—the wet heat of his tongue sliding between them, lingering just long enough to make her hips jerk.
A flush crept up her neck.
Her nipples tightened against his chest, and she prayed to every god she knew that he couldn't feel them.
But of course, he could.
Sol exhaled slowly, trying to steady herself, but something was different now. Something had shifted in her blood. A strange warmth was building in her core—not the lingering echo of his fire, but something deeper. Something that pulsed with its own rhythm, like a second heartbeat awakening beneath her ribs.
The longer she was in his arms, the warmer she was getting.
Far too warm.
Sweat beaded at her temples despite the cool air of the corridor. Her skin felt tight, oversensitive, as if every nerve had been pulled taut and left trembling.
When Korin's thumb shifted against her hip—a small, unconscious adjustment—she nearly gasped aloud.
I don’t understand. What is happening to me?
Between her thighs, she was slick. Embarrassingly, undeniably wet. She could feel it—the evidence of her body's betrayal soaking into nothing because she wore nothing at all. Every shift of Korin's arms pressed her bare sex against the hard muscle of his forearm, and she had to bite her lip to keep from grinding against him.
This is madness. He kidnapped me. He's a monster. I should not want him.
But she did want Korin.
Her body screamed it.
