Delilah’s Pov
“No,” I repeated firmly, and silence followed. Both of us just stared at each other, the air thick enough to cut.
I arched a brow. “You think you can get anything you want, don’t you? Just because you’ve lived for a hundred, two hundred, three hundred years. You think everyone will bow to you, crawl when you call, listen when you speak. Is that what you think?”
Malric’s lips curved the slightest bit. “Yes.”
“Typical,” I muttered, rolling my eyes as I pushed up from the chair.
I didn’t get far. His hand shot out, strong and steady, wrapping around my wrist. “You’re coming with me, Delilah.”
I tilted my head. “Say please.”
“Do we necessarily have to do this?” His tone was half amused, half strained.
“Yes.”
His gaze locked with mine. And then, surprisingly soft: “Pleas
