His voice was steady, but the cadence was off. A fraction too tight.
She didn't answer. She didn't even look away. Her ancient, golden eyes remained locked onto his, tilted upward now as her vertical elevation dropped.
Her cold hand trailed downward.
The sensation was maddening. Her soft, delicate palm dragged over the hard, sweat-slicked muscle of his chest, the freezing temperature of her skin raising goosebumps in its wake. She traced the defined ridges of his abs, her fingertips moving with a deliberate, torturous slowness that felt less like a caress and more like a butcher assessing a cut of meat.
Cruxius watched her sink to her knees on the cold stone floor.
His mind raced, attempting to categorize the action. She was a queen. A monster of legend. A gorgeous, terrifyingly lethal woman whose pride was as vast as her body count. For her to sink to her knees before him... he did not understand.
Her hand continued its downward trajectory.
