Did you touch her, Killian? Did you mark her with your scent, with your tongue, like a fucking claim?

Zayne’s POV

The door, heavy oak with intricate carvings, creaked open under my grip, the sound barely audible in the quiet morning. My movements were slow, deliberate, each motion weighed with a grim purpose. My boots were silent against the cold stone floor, a predator’s careful approach. I didn’t...

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