Chapter 1269


    Thssa couldn''t help but feel a twinge of fear at Lysander''s icy gaze, which pierced through her like a


    de of winter. She quickly averted her eyes and scurried towards the kitchen where a ss of


    untouched water sat next to the kettle.


    "I''ll get you something to drink," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.


    Thssa reached for the ss, intending to hand it directly to Lysander, but hesitated. Her hand


    paused in mid-air before she opted for an empty ss instead, filling it with fresh water from the tap.


    The abandoned ss had been filled for Callum just moments before Lysander''s arrival. Given


    Lysander''s disdain for anything remotely associated with Callum, even sitting on the same sheets, she


    dared not offer him a ss intended for another man. It wasn''t worth risking his wrath on the off-chance


    he would find out.


    She approached Lysander with the new ss of water, offering it to him with a tentative smile. "Here,


    have some water."


    Lysander''s deep-set eyes flicked to the ss and then back to her. "What about you? Aren''t you


    thirsty?" he asked, his voice smooth yet edged with something she couldn''t quite ce.


    Thssa forced a smile. "I’ve had some earlier," she replied. "Your saliva, remember?" She trailed off,


    her tone yfully mocking.


    Her attempt at humor, meant to needle him, was softened by her warm, impish grin that sparkled like


    the morning sun—aforting, prating light that seemed to fill the room.


    Lysander''s gaze shifted, a ripple of something unspoken passing through him. With a deft movement,


    he lifted her chin. "Maybe you should have another sip?" he suggested, his voice low and possessive.


    Thssa recognized that intense look in his eyes—no one knew it better than she did. The fear


    returned, and she quickly stepped back to avoid his touch. "No, I''m not thirsty. You drink," she insisted,


    pushing the ss toward him, her heart pounding against her ribs.


    She was a fool to think she could jest with him when he was in a better mood. Lysander was a real


    tiger, a dangerous man who could snap at any moment.


    He took the ss from her without a word, his long, masculine neck working with each swallow.


    Thssa watched, transfixed by the sight, feeling a surge of something primal and intoxicating.


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    Lysander''s gaze slid to the nightstand beside the bed, and he cleared it with a sweep of his arm before


    taking a seat himself. He then pulled her close, guiding her down onto hisp. Re?d at


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