Yeara's eyes snapped up at him, curiosity mingling with fear and surprise as it clung to her skin. His hands were tight around her wrist—not painfully, but enough to keep her from pulling away.
Her gaze locked onto his, watching the subtle opening and closing of his eyes, as if words existed only in the space between them. Unlike last time, he did not let go. He simply remained there, eyes stabbing daggers into her.
Yeara's heart thudded against her chest, a huge wave of regret washing over her. She should have left when he warned her last time. Why hadn't she? Why had she waited until now? She moved her hands to pull away—but she could not. He did not even flinch, not the slightest.
