Winter’s POV

A lamp, a perfume bottle, a drawer handle, something.

Fadel stalked closer, dragging his feet slightly like he was fighting with some invisible force pulling him forward. His hands flexed open and closed at his sides, claws half-extended, scraping against his palms as if fighting to keep them in.

His golden eyes flicked from my face to my towel to my throat. A low sound rumbled from his chest, not quite a growl and not quite a moan. Something primal, something hungry.

I swallowed ...