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She didn’t hesitate. Darting forward she snatched his dagger from his hip and slammed the pommel up, straight into his temple with as much strength as she could muster. He dropped like a sack of potatoes. A gorgeous sack of gloriously toned potatoes.
“Did you know him?” She wasn’t sure. “No.”
Even with the strength of her scent reduced due to distance, he swore he still knew exactly where she was. There was this incessant tug he couldn’t ignore. It was as if his body was a compass and she, north.
He’d had his chance for more once, and had lost it.
He couldn’t stop the smirk that crept across his face, earning him another growl. He knew better than to underestimate her. She meant every word, but he couldn’t deny the thrill it sent under his skin. She was so gods damn beautiful.
She didn’t appear to appreciate his endearment, which only ensured he’d continue using it.
He may have considered hurting her the first two times they met, but he had no such feelings now. Quite the opposite.
She was growing tired of men telling her what to do.
“How did you get that scar?”
“You’re good at that,” she mumbled into his neck. “At what?” A shudder went through his body. “Being an ass.”
“Do you trust me?” “No.”
“Putting myself first for once doesn’t make me a coward,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’m allowed to care about my future.”
She didn’t understand what would happen if she allowed him to claim her in that way. How their bond would change. He wanted it to change, he craved the completion of it. He wanted Veralie to be tied to him in every possible way, to share everything between them. But he also wanted her to choose it, knowing and understanding exactly what she was choosing.
Jaren drew passion out of her—pulled and demanded it—and he didn’t shy away, no matter how she responded. He liked her fire.
He was the one exerting dominance, but it made her feel powerful because it was her who made him lose control. She fucking loved it.
