The words are out before I can stop them.
Silence.
Then Malrec emerges from the enclosure, moving with that controlled precision that somehow makes him look more dangerous than if he were storming. His eyes lock onto me, and the intensity in them makes my breath catch.
"What did you say?"
I should back down. Should apologize. Should remember that he could have me removed from the estate with a word, that arguing with him is pointless and potentially dangerous.
Instead, I hold his gaze. "He's stressed. They all are. Pushing him harder isn't going to fix anything."
"You presume to tell me how to handle my own beasts?" His voice drops lower, each word deliberate. "You, who have been here less than a week? Who knows nothing about infernal creatures beyond the most basic maintenance tasks?"
"I know when something isn't working."
It's a stupid thing to say. Reckless. But the words come out anyway, fueled by hours of accumulated frustration and the sick feeling in my stomach from hearing Azhrael's distress.
Malrec takes a step closer. Then another. The space between us shrinks until I can see the subtle flare of his nostrils, the way his jaw tightens.
"You know nothing." His voice is quiet now, which somehow makes it more dangerous. "You are here to perform basic labor under my direction. You do not question my methods. You do not offer opinions on matters beyond your comprehension. And you certainly do not speak to me in that tone."
I should look away. Should drop my gaze submissively and mumble an apology.
I don't.
"Maybe if you weren't such a—" I bite the words back, but not quickly enough.
"Such a what?" He's close enough now that I can feel the heat radiating off him, can see the ember-gold of his eyes reflecting the dim rune-light. "Finish your sentence."
My heart pounds against my ribs. Every instinct screams at me to back down, to defuse this before it escalates further.
Instead, I turn away, moving toward the supply station with deliberate calm. "Nothing. It's nothing."
I make it three steps before his voice cuts through the space between us.
"Lenna."
I freeze.
It's the first time he's said my name.
Not "human," not "laborer," not the dismissive "you" he's been using since I arrived. My actual name, spoken in that deep, commanding voice that somehow makes the syllables sound different than when anyone else says them.
And something in my mind—no, deeper than that, something in mybody—reacts.
The walkway tilts.
Not physically. The stone beneath my feet remains solid. But my perception shifts violently, and suddenly I'm not standing in the stables anymore. I'm somewhere else, somewhere warmer and darker, and that same voice is in my ear but different. Lower. Rougher. Groaning my name like a prayer, like a curse, like something desperate and necessary.
Lenna.
I feel hands on my hips—large, strong, digging into my skin like I'm the only one holding him there. Feel the weight of a body above mine, pressing me into soft surfaces I can't quite define. Feel my own hands on a broad chest, dark gray skin hot beneath my palms, and I'm moving with him,moving, and the pleasure is so intense it steals my breath?—
I gasp.
The stable snaps back into focus with jarring suddenness. My hands are braced against the supply station, knuckles white, and I'm breathing too hard. Shaking.
What the fuck was that?
