Desire rushed through her veins. Her nipples beaded, and she shivered. But the more aroused she became, the angrier he appeared.

He said nothing. She said nothing, speech beyond her skill set. The need for contact eclipsed the need to protect herself from yet another rejection. And he would reject her. That disdain...

Giving him a chance to rebuke her, Nola lifted her arms as slow as molasses. His shallow breaths quickened, but he remained silent. Finally, she flattened her hands over his pectorals, skin to white-hot skin. Muscles jumped, his heart racing beneath her palm.

“Such strength,” she muttered, entranced.

“Such beauty.” He wrapped his fingers around her wrists, holding her in place as if he couldn’t bear to let her go?

A thousand desires bombarded her at once. Kiss him. Pet every inch of him. Tear off his clothes. Shove him to the ground. Impale my body on his massive erection.

Oh, no, no, no. Sleep with Bane, a (kind of) stranger and a killer? No! Yes! Maybe? If she could be with him without sickening...

What are you doing? Vale came first, sex deliberation second.

Panting, Nola stepped back and wrenched from Bane.

He stepped forward, keeping her close. A volcano of violence threatened to erupt in those golden eyes. “Have you slept with Zion, princess?”

She lifted her chin, refusing to cower, and forged ahead. “Why? Are you jealous?”

His nostrils flared. “I’ve never been jealous.” He took another step closer, consuming her personal space. “I’ll never be jealous. It’s a childish emotion, for petulant people.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Watching his expression for a hint of emotion, she said, “As for Zion, no. I haven’t slept with him.”

Some of Bane’s tension faded.

Then she added, “Yet,” and he scowled.

Do not grin. No one had ever been jealous over Nola before.

He dragged his fingertips down the length of her sternum...around her navel. The thin cotton T-shirt offered little protection from all his blistering heat. “So fragile,” he said as she shivered. “Easily breakable. You would do well to curry my favor.”

Fragile. Breakable. “That never gets old,” she grumbled. “Shouldn’t you curry my favor? I speak, and you’re forced to obey.”

“And so the transformation begins,” he muttered, then bared his teeth at her. Were his chompers sharper than they’d been last time she’d checked him out?

“What does that mean?” Transformation—into a queen? At least he hadn’t denied her skill. Lightbulb! “Is that why you hate me? Because I have a strange ability to control you—an ability I don’t even understand? Well, guess what? You’re a total hypocrite! You condemn me while reveling in your own power over me.”

He bowed up, gearing for a fight.

Why do I remain unafraid?

But he didn’t strike at her. He switched topics, saying, “Your sickness. Tell me about it.”