The study was exactly as she’d first seen it — cold, imposing, designed to intimidate.
But Soren walked through the door with her head high, wearing a gown of black silk that Lian had commissioned, her throat bare of collar but covered in his marks.
One week since the curse broke. One week of feeding, f*****g and feeding again. One week of learning that she was more than a commodity, more than a solution to a problem.
She was his. And he was hers.
Lian sat behind his desk, dressed in formal black, every inch the lord of the manor. But his eyes burned with the same hunger that had consumed them both for days.
“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the chair before him.
Soren obeyed, crossing her legs, watching his eyes track the movement with predatory interest.
He slid a document across the
