"Tell me," Selvara repeated, her voice quieter now—almost a whisper, barely louder than the crackle of the dying fire in the hearth. "How did you know the Pale Hands were going to attack?"
Aiden didn't answer right away.
He simply tilted his head and pressed his lips to the sensitive side of her neck—slow, deliberate, letting the kiss linger until he felt the tiny tremor race through her body.
"My Lord..." she breathed, the words caught somewhere between protest and plea, her tone already softening at the edges.
He hummed low in his throat, the sound vibrating against her skin, amused and predatory all at once. Then he dragged his mouth downward along the elegant column of her throat—soft open-mouthed kisses at first, then a light scrape of teeth, just enough to make her pulse jump beneath his lips.
Selvara's breath hitched audibly. Her fingers flexed against his forearms before curling tighter, nails pressing faint half-moons into his skin.
