AURORA MOON
Their obedience was a testament to the absolute power Kellan Ward wielded in this place. The men who had dragged her in, who moments before had been rough and impersonal, now stood as still as statues, their eyes fixed on some distant point, their very beings bent to the silent command radiating from the man in the chair.
His mismatched gaze—one eye the color of a stormy sea, the other a warm, fiery amber—drifted from her dripping hair, plastered to her neck and forehead in dark, wet tendrils, down over the ruined, sopping dress that clung to every curve and shiver, and finally to her bare feet, pale and vulnerable against the cold, dark floor.
The moment Kellan Ward's eyes fully locked onto hers, a seismic shift occurred in her body . . . and in her soul. It was an instinctual, primal recognition.
