LYRA’S POV
The heat from Silas’s mouth still burned on my lips, but the memory of his cold, judging eyes from before—from when I first arrived here—slammed into me like a physical blow.
I pushed against his chest. Hard.
He stumbled back a step, his breath ragged, his lips swollen from kissing me. His blue eyes were wide, dark with a hunger I didn’t understand. But I saw the other look underneath. The one that said I know what you are. The one that had looked at me and seen something dirty.
“Stop,” I said, my voice shaking. I pulled my sweater closed over my bare skin, my fingers fumbling with the wet buttons. “Just… stop.”
“Lyra,” he breathed, his voice rough. He took a step forward.
“No!” The word tore out of me. “Don’t touch me. Don’t… don’t mess with me.”
He froze. The hunger in
