-Elara Voss:
Ronan exhaled sharply through his nose, then ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more than it already was. "Not now, Elara." His voice was low, strained.
"Then when?" I crossed my arms, narrowing my eyes at him.
He didn't answer. Instead, he pushed himself up from the bed, moving carefully like he still half-expected pain to flare in his wound—even though there was nothing there anymore.
I watched him, biting the inside of my cheek. He was tense. Avoidant. But I could see the flicker of uncertainty beneath his rough exterior.
That kiss had shaken him.
Good.
"I'm going to eat," he muttered, grabbing his coat off the chair and shrugging it over his shoulders. His back was to me now, and I could tell he was doing everything in his power to ignore the fact that I was still staring at him.
Fine. If he wanted to pretend, let him. I wasn't going to.
I smirked. "You know, if Lucien hadn't walked in, I think you wouldn't have stopped kissing me."
