The kiss was the end of the war. It was brutal, possessive, and total. The taste of him—a mix of that poisoned wine, his own sheer arrogance, and the coppery tang of her own blood from where he'd bitten her lip—was a brand on her very soul. When he finally pulled back, Lin Ruoli's mind was just... gone.
It wasn't just blank. It was a shattered mirror, all the sharp, clever, and strategic pieces of her personality, her very self, were just glittering, useless fragments. All the fight, all the pride, all the strategy... it was completely broken. She just panted, her lips swollen, her eyes wide and empty.
Alaric pulled back, his own breathing heavy, his chest heaving. His ruby eyes weren't just burning; they were twin coals from a deep, raging forge, lit with a manic, hungry fire that had only just been stoked.
He wasn't done. He was just getting started.
"That..." he panted, a cruel, triumphant smile spreading across his face. "Was the appetizer."
