Evander's POV
The slam of the door behind us was final. The sound echoed through the walls like a judgment, sealing her in with me, cutting her off from the hall, from Mara, from anyone who might've softened the weight of my presence.
I didn't move for a moment. My hand still rested on the iron lock, fingers curled tight around it. My chest rose and fell once, twice, slow and controlled, though every nerve in me screamed to break the control entirely.
She was on the bed. Small, furious, a flame set against the cold of this room.
Her breath came quick—short gasps that betrayed the storm still riding her. She wasn't scared. Not in the way most people were when they realized they'd crossed me. No, Odette was angry. Blazing, seething, practically vibrating with it.
And it infuriated me.
Because anger made her careless.
Because anger made her beautiful.
Because anger made me want to drag her closer and remind her she was mine to command, whether she liked it or not.
