The heavy, reinforced door of the penthouse hissed open with a sound of pressurized air, revealing Belica in all her predatory splendor. She didn't wait for a greeting. She didn't even wait for Theron to step aside. She glided into his sanctuary as if the marble floors had been laid specifically for her feet, the faint, intoxicating scent of jasmine, crushed pomegranate, and dark incense following her like a physical weight.
Theron stood his ground, his hand still resting on the frame of the door. The glow in his eyes hadn't faded. If anything, it had intensified, turning a molten, dangerous amber. "I didn't permit you to enter, Belica."
Belica let out a low, throaty laugh, a sound that was more of a purr than a giggle. She didn't turn back to him until she reached the center of the living room, her midnight silk gown shimmering like oil on water. She turned slowly, her dark eyes tracing the minimalist lines of his home with a look of mock disappointment.
