Maybe I will teach you to please me, I taunted him, refusing to be intimidated, though he held me as though my weight were insignificant. “What could a lark teach an eagle?” he dared, and I felt that challenge from the grip of his hands to the gleam in his black gaze. An eagle can’t sing. It was the only thing I could think of. His lips twitched. “And my lark can’t speak.” I am not your lark. “You are.”
