Cilian's face was literally glowing in excitement that the sweat rolling down his face seemed to glow like crystals, his heart racing so fast Ren could feel the pulse through his chest.
He wasn't just aroused; he was happy. He was delighted that Ren had finally cried for him, seeing the tears not as a sign of fear, but as a deeper connection—a break in the wall of cold disgust Ren had maintained since the auction.
To Cilian, these emotions were a victory.
They made Ren's scent thicken and bloom, the lavender turning sharp and sweet in a way that made Cilian's pheromones smell even more perfect, filling the room with a heavy, intoxicating frost.
Cilian let out a low, ragged groan into the curve of Ren's neck, his self-control fraying. He leaned down and bit Ren's shoulder, a sharp, possessive mark that would serve as a reminder of their sinful night.
