"Well, well. It seems our little healer has grown some fangs."
The voice was dry, amused, and way too calm for someone who had just pulled off a full-on high-stakes kidnapping. Cherion didn't answer. Honestly? He couldn't. He was too busy staring at the woman across from him with a face that basically screamed "Are you serious right now?" in at least three different languages.
He was in a bedroom. Not a dungeon. Not a torture room. Just… a bedroom that smelled faintly like pressed lavender and expensive, slightly aggressive gin. This was Marielle's territory. The same person who had just dragged him through a dark hallway like he weighed nothing more than a sack of potatoes.
