"Exactly how you like it," Cyrus said, his voice low and calm as he handed the steaming bowl to Isabella, carefully wrapped in thick animal hide to protect her hands.
Isabella took it with both palms and looked up at him from where she sat on the thick log. The fire nearby crackled, casting a soft orange glow across his sharp cheekbones and bare, muscular chest. She couldn't help but smile—because Cyrus never got anything wrong.
"Thank you," she said, grinning at him like he'd just gifted her the moon. And in this world, maybe he had. Her stomach had been grumbling for hours, and the smell alone had nearly made her cry. Now that the bowl was in her hand, warm and fragrant, she wasted no time. She scooped a spoonful and took it straight to her lips.
The moment the rich, earthy flavor hit her tongue, her eyes fluttered shut.
