He led her by the mark on her wrist, the connection sizzling between them, a low hum of power and promise. The thrum in her veins was a direct conduit to the ache between her legs, a pulse that matched the flicker of the flames dancing across his shoulders. He didn’t speak, his intent clear in the possessive grip of his hand and the smoldering look in his amber eyes.
The bed was a plush expanse of dark silk, and as he guided her toward it, the air shimmered with heat. He released her arm, and with a mere twitch of his fingers, a wave of contained fire rolled from his palm, washing over the sheets. They didn’t combust, but instead glowed with an inner, shifting light, like embers in a forge. The scent of ozone and something wild, like a lightning-struck forest, filled the room.
“On your k
