Another shadow stirred in her peripheral vision, sliding across the floor like spilled ink brought to malevolent life. It didn't touch her—not yet. But the threat was there, coiled and ready, promising consequences she didn't want to contemplate.
"Then I will make you." The words were spoken softly, almost gently, but they carried the weight of absolute certainty that made her blood run cold.
Blazar's fingers curled into fists, her nails biting into her palms hard enough to draw blood. "I'd rather eat glass."
The shadow struck without warning—wrapping around her wrist like a living manacle and yanking her forward with enough force to make her stumble and curse.
She barely caught herself before colliding with the divan, her free hand slamming into the cushion beside his hip with a sound that seemed to echo in the suddenly too-small space.
