Page 66 of Untamed

“Ares…” I breathe, my voice a soft scrape in the silence. He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t move closer. Doesn’t blink.

He just watches me, eyes locked, cold and unflinching, as though he’s cataloguing every flicker of guilt on my face, every excuse I might try to build before he tears it down.

I don’t move. I don’t run.

Because somewhere in the pit of my stomach, I already know…Ares didn’t come here to shout. It’s not his style.

He came toremind meexactly who he is. I’m just not sure who I exactly am tohim.

Ares takes one slow step toward me. Not threatening, not overtly. But everything about the way he moves feels like a question I haven’t been given permission to answer. Yet, somehow, I find my voice long enough to questionhim.

“What are you doing here?”

When he speaks, his voice is quiet, rough like gravel dragged over velvet. “Tranquilla, Bambina. I’ll be the one asking the questions.”

My brow rises, “On what authority?”

Brown eyes darken to almost black, “On mine.” He states grimly.

“What the fuck were you doing at Eden, Jordyn?”

He doesn’t yell.

He doesn’t bark.

Just simplyasks. Like it’s owed to him. So, I lift my chin, refusing to flinch. Though my heart’s a war drum, I don’t let it show. I stand my ground, even as he closes the distance between us, two feet… one… until the scent of him is everywhere.

Smoke, spice,sin.

His hand brushes my doorframe as he leans in, towering over me, dark, carved out of wrath and restraint. Fuck, my mouth goes dry and my knees tremble like they’re about to give out on me.

I keep my eyes locked on his, even as his free hand reaches out, wrapping gently around my wrist. Slowly, he lifts my hand. His gaze flickers from my face to my thumb, zeroing in on the cut. It’s stopped bleeding hours ago, but the sting still lingers.

He doesn’t say a word. Just looks. Then, with a touch so light it barely feels real, he brushes his thumb across the tender skin. The contact sends a quiet shiver through me—part pain, part something else entirely.

“Answer me.” It’s not a request.

My voice doesn’t shake when I speak, even if everything inside me does.

“I thought it was obvious. I work there.”

His brow ticks. The muscle in his jaw jumps once. I can feel the heat coming off him like a furnace, and it’s not anger.

Not entirely. It’s something else.

Something possessive. Feral.Starving.

He looks at me like he wants to tear into me... kiss or kill, I’m not sure which. Though I’m secretly praying for the first.

“Not anymore, you’re not,” he declares, voice tight. “Of all the places you can work, you find a sleazy club like Eden. Who has you dressed likethat, serving drinks to men who are staring at your tits and ass every time you bend over?”

“And?” I cut in, lifting an eyebrow. “How exactly does that concern you? I didn’t know I needed your permission to get a job or ask your approval on my attire.”

That gets to him. Just a flicker. His mouth hardens. His eyes narrow.

But he doesn’t step back, no, he stepscloser.

His warm breath grazes my cheek as his voice drops an octave, and I almost swoon.

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