Boartusk Heights vengaza es dulce

Qvasir’s amber eyes flicked to her, the faintest trace of amusement pulling at the corners of his lips. She was small, delicate even, but her movements betrayed a precision that intrigued him. The way she avoided his gaze while questioning him was a dance he’d seen before—one he was all too happy to engage in.

Puede ser, señorita, he replied, his voice low and rich, the Spanish flowing smoothly from his tongue. I will do my duty, if called for it. His grin widened, a flash of teeth, as though daring her to press him further.

He matched her pace, his steps measured and unhurried. But tell me, he continued, voice dipping with a thread of curiosity, do you fall beneath the rafters, chica?