Malric’s Pov
They say a taste is a taste.
But when a taste becomes something I cannot live without, what is it called?
I don’t know. You tell me.
Delilah.
Last night was the best—seizing her, devouring her softness, claiming every gasp, every tremble. It almost drove me past the edge. I almost marked her. My teeth hovered on that delicate skin, the instinct roaring inside me to brand her mine forever. But I stopped. Because once I did, there would be no turning back.
Now I find myself staring out the window like a fool, watching servants move about, the horses steaming under the morning sun. My mind is blank, yet filled with her at the same time. Her laugh. Her defiance. The heat of her body pressed to mine. I am cursed with the memory.
A knock jolted me. “Come in,” I muttered.
A
