Azrael's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as if her defiance was both infuriating and intoxicating. For the first time, the predator looked like he might've just met his match.
And Athena? She stood her ground, refusing to be prey.
The air between them was molten, charged, and deafening. Neither of them moved, neither willing to surrender first.
The silence shattered when Azrael moved.
His hand, the one tangled in her white hair, slid downward with a slow, deliberate precisionover the curve of her neck, the line of her shoulder, until it found her waist. His fingers tightened there, firmly pulling her flush against him.
Athena's breath caught in her throat. Her chest pressed into his even further, her hips aligned with his frame. Her lungs burned, but not from lack of air, because every breath she tried to take was swallowed by the heat radiating off him.
