This time, his voice was louder, edged with fury. Feng Ling's heart skipped. She could sense the storm brewing in him, yet she had no idea why. And at this moment, she didn't care to know—her own anger burned just as fiercely.
His face drew closer—so near that if she moved even slightly, their lips would brush. Pain flared through her jaw under his merciless grip, yet she forced herself to remain steady.
Taking a deep breath, she spoke in a cold yet steady tone. Mo Tian, you are the Supreme Demon Emperor. Speak properly. How am I supposed to understand what you mean, if you refuse to let go and explain? What 'smell' are you talking about?
Mo Tian's lips curved into a cold smile. "Little witch, you want to talk properly? Very well. I'll teach you what it means to talk properly."
Before Feng Ling could react, his hand left her chin. In one swift motion, he lifted her from the couch as if she weighed nothing and slung her over his shoulder.
