"Kian, please let me go," Isabella said, low and urgent, fingers already prying at the iron band of his arm. When that didn't work, she went petty—pinch. Right at the sensitive spot above his wrist.
Nothing.
He didn't even flinch. He just stared down at her with that blank, carved-from-stone face, the one that made enemy chiefs rethink their life choices. Not even a twitch. Which somehow made her more frustrated. Unbelievable. To outsiders, he really was the cold lion king with no emotions, the man who could sit through a screaming storm and call it "weather." But once he got comfortable? Oh, he could be annoying without even trying. The audacity of being cozy and stubborn at the same time.
