"I Never Said where I was going to right? I never said it was somewhere dangerous, so why do you look so serious," Isabella said, her voice softening as she rested her head on Kian's chest again, no longer looking up at him.
She tucked herself in like she belonged there, cheek against warm fur, ear pressed to the slow drum of his heartbeat. His scent—sun-warmed hide, clean smoke, that quiet wild note that was only him—wrapped around her. The window to their left threw a pale stripe of light across the floor. The door sat opposite, a dark plank with a stubborn handle, like a guard watching them breathe.
Kian stared down at her. From above, he saw the line of her lashes, the tiny crease at the tail of her brow when she pretended not to worry, the way her mouth tilted when she was about to say something reckless and make it sound reasonable.
