Dastan felt his nostrils flare as he struggled to control his primitive urges, listening to the ardent defensive words of Maera. For him. His knuckles tightened into two balls as he fought to remain still with Eaton at his side.
Fury englobed him, unwarranted raw animalistic anger towards that girl who stood right in the middle of his kitchen defending his name like she had every right to. How dared she? Who did she think she was?
“My, my,” Eaton sneered nastily at his side, his voice full of unfamiliar spite and jealousy. “Looks like you’ve got yourself a fan.”
Horror filled Dastan at the deliberate taunt, and his eyes clashed with knowing green eyes as they reflected the same malevolence he’d perceived in Eaton’s voice. They both knew what had happened the last time he’d had a fan. El
