For ten seconds, the only sound in the lower chamber was the hum of the auxiliary ether lines and Liam's uneven breathing as it slowly synced with the calm rhythm of Arik's heart.
The dizziness then faded, to be replaced by a sharp, localized heat caused by the fact that he was being bundled into the crown prince of Agaron's throat.
Liam's brain, finally finishing its reboot, registered three things in rapid succession:
The room had stopped spinning.
He was clutching Arik's expensive black coat with both hands.
The absolute gall of the man.
Liam shoved.
It wasn't a weak push this time. It was a desperate, adrenaline-fueled heave that got him exactly four inches of personal space. Arik didn't stumble, but he did loosen his grip, allowing Liam to pull his face away from the addictive warmth of the Alpha's scent gland.
"Get—" Liam choked on the word, his face flushing a brilliant, furious red. "Get your hands off me."
