His hand stayed buried in her breast. Milk leaked steadily from both nipples now, running in thin rivulets down the curve of her heavy belly, dripping from the underside in slow, white drops.
Viktor watched the tree-line while she worked.
His purple eyes, settled and burning, found both women in the shadow with the precision of something that didn't need light to see.
He 'observed' them.
Let them feel observed.
Then — slowly, almost lazily — shook his head once.
Like: 'you're not fooling anyone, and you both know it.'
Lira's jaw tightened.
Something that might have been her pride made one final, valiant attempt to assert itself against the purple air and the heat between her thighs and the sight of that man's back muscles moving in the moonlight.
'I am the leader of this camp,' she told herself, with considerable internal force. 'I have put down three men who challenged me. I negotiated this territory from a warlord who had thirty soldiers. I do not tremble for anyone.'
