the skin on your neck was still red from the knife that had been held at your throat. Rowan stared at it as he muttered his failure to save you, to keep you safe. Although that’s not what you thought.

His pine-and-snow scent wrapped around you. You should move away, roll out of reach. Don't touch me like that. He said once. Yet there he was, his hand a brand on your bare shoulder, his body nearly covering yours. "You have nothing to be sorry for," you whispered. " trust you, Rowan."

You placed your soft hand on his tattooed cheek. It was an effort to remember how to breathe, to focus on anything but that smooth, warm skin. He didn't tear his eyes away from yours as you grazed your thumb along his sharp cheekbone. Savoring each stroke, you carsed his face, that tattoo, never breaking his stare, even as it stripped you naked. I'm sorry, he still seemed to say.

you kept your stare locked on his as you let go of his face and slowly, making sure he understood every step of the way, tilted your head back until your throat was arched and bared before him. "princess," he breathed. Not in reprimand or warning, but...a plea. It sounded like a plea. He lowered his head to your exposed neck and hovered a hair's breadth away. You arched your neck farther, a silent invitation. Rowan let out a soft groan and grazed his teeth against your skin. One bite, one movement, was all it would take for him to rip out your throat.