Yeara's eyes widened in shock. She stared ahead, unable to bring herself to face him as he stood behind her.
Her hands moved instinctively to cover her chest, while her lips parted and closed as if she lacked words—or perhaps it was her own mind that could not think straight now that she was half-naked.
Her head still struggled to wrap around the fact that he had stripped her—though not completely; at least her underwear was still intact, and also the words he had just spoken to her.
Her body shivered as goosebumps rippled across her skin. She couldn't even bring herself to speak—not like this. Even though she could not see him, she could feel his gaze burning into her.
Zalthor stood behind her, unwavering, his eyes fixed on her back.
Her lips parted and closed again, a shiver running up her spine.
His midnight eyes traced the curve of her back down to her full, rounded bottom—so different from the other women, who were much flatter.
