The Abga's prisoner

Book 1 of the incoming saga
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Laïa had always known the Abga were dangerous, but nothing had prepared her for him. Not even the four years spent in the Latic convent could have braced her for this.

The golden-eyed king stood too close, only meters away, his presence suffocating. The air between them was thick, charged-like a storm about to break and consume everything in its path. Her wrists ached from hours spent in ceremonial chains, but that pain was nothing compared to the heat of his gaze, the way his fingers flexed as if he were fighting to stay in control.

Then he moved-fast.

In a blink, he was before her, his hand brushing her throat, thumb grazing her skin before pressing lightly over her racing pulse. Her breath hitched, a shiver racing down her spine.

"You have no idea what you've done," he murmured, voice low, rough-his breath ghosting against her ear.

She was frozen, like prey caught in a predator's sights. A trance-like detachment settled over her, as though she were watching the scene unfold from outside herself. Except his hand was on her throat. His body caged hers in a way that made escape impossible.

Then, suddenly, he was gone. Exhaling sharply, as if burned. His expression was unreadable, but his voice was not.

"Lies," he muttered darkly. "But we'll see how long you can keep them."

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