Aira had barely spoken the words when her body moved—two careful steps back, then another, her heartbeat quickening as her instincts surged forward.
She wanted space. She wanted air. Most of all, she needed to be far enough away that Zyren wouldn't touch her again—wouldn't kiss her like he had before, without warning, without care, without permission. The memory of it still burned unwanted across her lips like fire that didn't warm but consumed.
Her bare feet made no sound against the marble floor as she backed away, her breathing shallow but controlled. The room was large, with high arching ceilings, dark stone walls, and velvet drapes that stilled like watching sentinels. She moved faster, nearly tripping over the edge of the rug beneath her as she increased her pace, putting more and more distance between them.
Yet her gaze never wavered.
