Just as Liora anticipated, he stepped out of the trees—like a predator drawn by instinct. Shirtless, his chest glistened faintly with sweat, muscles carved and tense beneath the moonlight.
Scars mapped his torso like forgotten battles, each one telling a story she hadn't yet heard. His hair was damp, tousled from the night air, and his eyes . . . gods, those eyes. Glowing amber like molten gold, locked on her with the intensity of a storm about to break.
There was no mistaking it. Lyander didn't just walk—he prowled. Dangerous. Magnetic. The kind of beautiful that wasn't safe to look at too long, unless you were ready to be bitten and marked.
=== 🖤 ===
Lyander hadn't meant to follow Liora.
That was what he told himself, anyway, as he crouched in the thick cover of trees, heart pounding like a war drum in his chest.
He'd been on patrol. A routine sweep. But when he caught her scent—wild jasmine and rain-kissed earth—his feet moved of their own accord.
