Wren looks at Easton as he walks toward the bed, her legs which were straight, showing her relaxed, less guarded front, slowly start to move up as she eyes him, not knowing his intention for being in the room with her alone.
All that she knows now is she will fight him to the death if it comes to it. One of them will die before he gains access to her. Fated mate or not, on the dawn of her death or not, he will not ever touch her.
Easton sneers at the look but quickly composes himself as he walks toward the bed, his hand leaning casually against the timber of the exquisite four-poster bed. He hardly thought she deserved such luxury, but this is a room fit for the queen to be. They had to make it look as authentic as possible. It is all about selling the realism of the lie.
He doesn’t thi
