I could’ve snorted. Could’ve said something sassy. But I didn’t.
I stepped in closer instead, the space between us collapsing with terrifying ease. His hand slid from my cheek to my neck—his thumb resting right at the edge of my jaw, fingers splayed across my collarbone.
I felt heat there. Not from lightning. From him.
“Alaric,” I whispered, warning.
“Say stop,” he murmured.
I didn’t.
His lips caught mine like a promise, warm and sure, one hand anchoring my waist, pulling me in until my entire body sang with tension. It wasn’t a desperate kiss—it was slow. Controlled. Thorough. Like he had all the time in the world.
When I finally pulled back for air, my skin was flushed and my heart felt like it was trying to break out of my ribs.
From behind us, of course, came a voice:
“I swear
