Lyra didn’t move right away.
She stood in the hall long after Xander disappeared around the corner, heart still racing, skin still tingling where he’d touched her. The ghost of his fingers in her hair. The warmth of his body. His words.
‘You feel it too, don’t you?’ Her wolf said.
She did. That was the problem.
Everything about him left her unsteady. Not just the way he looked—like sin wrapped in effortless charm—but the way he made her feel. Like she was something dangerous and delicate all at once. A fuse waiting to be lit.
He teased like it was all a game, like her reactions were the prize. But when his fingers brushed her neck, when his voice dropped low, when his gaze flicked over her like he was memorizing the shape of her—something in her twisted. Ached.
Why is he like this?
