She wasn't naive enough to think he was stupid—Zyren Blackthorne was many things, but a fool wasn't one of them. Neither did she believe for a second that she was special enough to drive him mad with the scent of her blood or with what lay between her legs. That fantasy was meant for other women, the deluded ones who mistook his attention for desire. Aria knew better.
That bitter clarity only deepened the pit in her stomach, made her wonder—agonizingly—what it was he truly wanted from her.
Especially when he'd made it abundantly clear that her father and brother had been nothing to him. Nothing but dirt beneath his boots. Disposable. Worthless. And she? He'd all but said she should have died too. That he would have killed her himself… until something changed. Until she felt that heat—and he—
Her thoughts caught in her throat.
