“What did you do that for?” he shouted.
I sprinted toward the tent entrance, but something solid slammed into me from behind, sending me sprawling onto the ground. A massive body pinned me down, and I struggled desperately beneath their weight.
“Just because I do not require your services doesn’t mean you can attack me—twice, I might add.” His tone was sharp and edged with irritation.
Services? Servi…He thought I was a prostitute! “I am not a prostitute! You pig, get off me!” I struggled beneath him, the cold, unyielding ground pressing into my skin.
He let out a sharp laugh. “Pig?”
“Yes, pig. Get off!” I bit out in frustration.
“If you aren't a uh- certain kind of lady, then why are you in my tent, wearing no clothes?” The male retorted, his tone now laced with amusement.
I didn’t respond. How could I? I didn’t have an answer.
He let out another annoying, breathy chuckle. “I'll get off you if you promise not to run or hit me again, and we can talk. But if you try anything else, I'll use my dagger, and there won't be a warning this time. Deal?”
“Fine. Nowget off me.” I panted, still straining against his weight on top of me.
I could feel his intense stare burning into my back as he gradually eased off me and stood. Slowly, I pushed myself into a sitting position, wincing as the pain in my back flared with the movement. The impact from being tackled had left a dull throb that radiated through my shoulders and spine, making each shift a jolt of discomfort.
“Did you have to tackle me so hard?” I grimaced, brushing off dirt from my exposed skin.
“You shouldn’t have run,” he countered, and I rolled my eyes at his lighthearted tone.
I managed to get to my feet and spun around to confront him, but the words caught in my throat when I saw his face clearly for the first time. He was- well, he was beautiful. He was massive and probably the most handsome man I had ever seen. His dark, inky black hair hung over his brow but seemed to shorten on the sides. One white strand ran across the side of his sharp, angular face and fell slightly above his emerald eyes, which seemed to pulsate with streaks of yellow. His gaze ensnared mine, and my mouth parted as I took him in. I had never seen eyes like his before, and…he was smirking.
I quickly snapped my mouth shut and narrowed my eyes on him. He wore thick, dark trousers with a glossy leather overlay that gleamed faintly under the light. His shirt, made of rich, dark silk, seemed to absorb every shadow in the room. The fabric’s deep hue was like woven night, tucked neatly into his waistband. Soft and airy, it clung just enough to hint at the muscular chest beneath, with the top few buttons left undone. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing muscular forearms. One was adorned with intricate, swirling emerald tattoos that seemed almost alive in the dim light.
The male brushed a hand through his sleek black hair, causing the white strand to fall forward over his forehead once again. I realized he was evaluating me, and I watched as his eyes swept down my body in an assessing manner.
“My eyes are up here, asshole,” I snapped, my hands instinctively moving to cover myself. His gaze shifted back to mine, though it did so with a deliberate, almost reluctant slowness.
“You could be a gentleman and offer me a shirt or a blanket to cover up with,” I said coolly. “Or was I right in calling you a pig?” I snapped, and his brows shot up, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.
He walked toward me, his gaze unwavering. When he was close enough to make me uneasy, he began unbuttoning his shirt at an agonizingly slow pace. I swallowed hard, and he smirked down at me. “You are quite feisty, little stalker,” he practically purred, his eyes traveling down my body once more.
Stalker?
“Are you always this cocky?” I asked, oddly rooted to the spot. He didn’t respond, but continued to slowly unbutton his shirt, untucking it from his pants. “Also, I’m not a stalker. I don’t even know who you are.”
His smirk widened into a grin, and he threw open his shirt, sliding it off his broad shoulders and holding it out toward me.
I reached for the shirt, making a concerted effort not to let my gaze linger on his now-exposed, mid-section. The tattoo on his right arm wound up to his shoulder and across the top of his broad sculpted chest, its swirling lines forming intricate designs that I couldn’t quite make out.
A flush of heat crept into my cheeks, but I refused to let this male see it. I willed my expression to remain steady, holding his gaze.
“Hasn’t it been you lurking just out of sight these past few weeks?” he mused, and a chill ran down my spine. “I recognize your scent,” he added.
My scent? I scrunched up my nose. Did I smell?
“I've been curious about who has been able to get past our wards and get so near me without detection.” He took another step closer, leaving only inches between us.
Wards? What the hell was he talking about?
“I’m not stalking you,” I said firmly, pushing my hands against his chest to create some distance.
He didn’t move an inch, and I was met with unyielding resistance. My eyes betrayed me, wandering down to his sculpted torso, leaving me momentarily speechless. No wonder he didn’t budge—he had more muscles than I could count.
