Vaeron remained motionless long after the door closed. The sound of the werewolf princess's hurried footsteps disappeared down the corridor, leaving only the faint dripping of water behind.
His jaw tightened.
He could still feel the tremor of her wrist beneath his fingers, the shape of her wrist against them. It was small, warm, and too fragile.
His gaze dropped. There was a faint red mark where his fingers had closed around her skin.
Vaeron stared at it. Something inside him twisted. He hated that. He hated even more that he knew exactly why.
For a moment, he said nothing. Then his fingers curled slowly into a fist.
He had frightened her. Again. The thought irritated him more than it should have. Not because he cared whether she was afraid of him.
Fear was useful. Fear kept creatures alive around things they did not understand. But there had been something different in her expression this time.
