Mira's hand stilled on his cock, still coated with his thick release. She turned sharply toward him, worry flooding her green eyes. "My lord?!"
Across from them, Elara had finally managed to untangle herself from Kaida's hit. She sat back, one hand rubbing her ribcage where Kaida's skull had jabbed her during the fall.
Each breath came shallow and sharp—one of her ribs felt bruised, maybe cracked. The pain pulsed with every inhale.
But as she lifted her gaze, her eyes caught something.
Viktor's hand.
His fingers.
They were glistening.
Wet.
Dripping.
A clear, viscous fluid coated his middle and index fingers, catching the dim light filtering through the carriage windows.
The liquid was translucent, slightly sticky-looking, clinging to his skin as his hand trembled from the pain in his head.
A thin strand of it stretched between his fingers as he flexed them unconsciously.
Elara's gaze dropped lower.
