Lyra felt her face burn with something beyond shame, a heat that suffused her chest and made her thighs tremble.
Alpha Kalem watched her, eyes hard as flint. He waited without impatience. He seemed to take pleasure in her discomfort, in the way her gaze flickered from the carpet to the four-poster bed, to the iron-shod door.
"Now," he said, his voice quiet but absolute. "If you make me repeat myself, you will not like the result."
Lyra's hands moved on their own. She slipped the dress from her shoulders, and the fabric fell to her feet in a soundless heap. Cool air kissed her bare skin, but it was nothing compared to the searing weight of his gaze. He pointed to the heavy blindfold draped over one bedpost.
"Put it on."
Her fingers trembled as she obeyed, tying the thick cloth over her eyes until darkness swallowed the room. The world shrank to the sharp scent of wax, parchment, and Kalem's own scent.
