Lyra’s POV
The bioluminescent water of the hot spring rippled violently around my thighs, the only sound in the cavern besides the ragged, terrifyingly shallow breaths tearing through Fenrir’s chest.
His hand was a vice of scarred muscle and iron-hard bone around my throat. He wasn’t crushing my windpipe, not yet, but his thumb was pressed so firmly over my pulse point that I knew he could feel the frantic, rabbit-quick hammering of my heart.
The feral, adoring male who had just worshipped me into oblivion was completely gone. In his place stood the unhinged warlord who had slaughtered his way to the Prime throne, his eyes reduced to black pits ringed by lethal, predatory amber.
“Answer me, Lyra,” Fenrir whispered, his voice vibrating with a dark, catastrophic promise as the claws on h
