Contd
Serayah Morgan.
After showering, I wander through the corridors of Roar’s bedroom. The oversized shirt I’m wearing is slightly sticking to my back. My feet come to a slow when I pass by his study, and that’s when I see him. He is leaning over a cluttered desk.
I don’t mean to linger. I swear I don’t. My feet are already halfway through the motion of walking away when his eyes lift, catching me in the doorway.
I blink. He stands.
“Can we speak?” he asks.
What? Roar asking for permission to speak to me? The Roar I know doesn’t ask. He takes. He orders.
I step into his study. The room smells of leather and paper. My damp hair brushes my spine and the back of my neck. The Frostfang gestures for me to sit. So, I lower myself into the chair in front of his desk.
He waits until I’m
