Moments later,
Aria
The steam swallowed us, a humid, opaque shroud that smelled of damp cedar, expensive sandalwood, and the metallic, copper tang of my own boiling blood.
I didn't care about the consequences of my intrusion. I didn't care about the etiquette of a princess or the strategic caution of an agent.
The Purgatory was a violent, unrelenting tide, and this man - this towering wall of raw, corded muscle and ink - was the only anchor keeping me from being swept into a fever-induced abyss.
I jumped.
It was a predatory movement, fueled by the toxins screaming for an exit and the primal instinct to survive.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, the friction of his damp, cool skin against the sensitive heat of my inner thighs sending a jolt of electric lightning straight to my c
