The chain around her neck tugged every few steps, reminding her to whom she belonged. Not like she could forget.
Each link rubbed against her collarbone, hot with the touch of his magic. Leonhardt hadn't looked at her once since they left the barricades. His presence lived under her skin now, like a second pulse. Every breath she took, every tremble in her thighs, answered to him.
Even now, she hated herself for the way her body moved behind him. Too willingly. Her legs should've been too weak. She should've collapsed again, but her every fibre yearned for his touch, his taste... his...
But no—her body chased him.
Her crotch throbbed with each echo of his boots on the stone.
This isn't me.
This is his magic…
It's still in me.
He made me like this.
That lie had become her anchor.
It was easier to think she was still a victim than admit she wanted to kneel again.
