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Chapter 366: Chapter 366: Zephyra’s POV (2)

Even with her eyes shut, she could feel the heavy, physical weight of his stare dragging across her skin. It traced the sweat rolling down her neck, lingered heavily on the deep valley of her cleavage pushed up by the tight linen wraps, and dragged down to her bare stomach.

It was greedy. It was raw. It was the look of a starving, battle-drunk beast staring at a fresh, bleeding cut of meat.

Zephyra’s lips twitched, fighting back a smirk.

Arrogant boy, she thought, a spark of genuine amusement cutting through her exhaustion. You just woke up from a three-day coma with a hole in your gut, and your first instinct is to come hunting? But if she was being entirely honest with herself, she liked it. She liked it a lot.

Decades of being treated like a terrifying, untouchable demigod got incredibly lonely. Having a young, brutally capable powerhouse look at her with such blatant, disrespectful hunger was a rare, intoxicating thrill.

She decided to let him sweat a little. She held up a single, manicured hand, her voice echoing smoothly in the hot room. “Wait. Let me finish the cycle.”

He actually listened. He stood there, perfectly still, just watching her breathe.

When she opened her eyes, she caught him dead to rights. His silver-crimson eyes were locked right on her chest, there was no fear in his eyes, only raw, unapologetic, disrespectful hunger.

He looked at her like a man looking at a woman, not a tribesman looking at a god.

And honestly, instead of disrespect or anything, It had thrilled her. The sheer audacity of the boy had sparked a heavy amusement in her tired chest.

She then deliberately uncrossed her legs and stretched her back, knowing exactly what the movement did to her heavy curves. The linen wraps strained against her chest, he liked so much.

She bantered with him, explaining the toll of the storm. She enjoyed the back-and-forth. It was refreshing. But then he took a step forward, his voice dropping into a low, rough octave.

“If your body is that stiff, I actually know a massage technique.”

Zephyra almost laughed out loud again. A massage? From the butcher of the battlefield? The guy who snapped a Layer 3 beast’s knee with a single kick was offering to rub her back?

It was a ridiculous, blatant excuse to put his hands on her.

Fine, she thought, her sliver eyes flashing with playful challenge. Let’s see what you’ve got, boy.

And hearing him offer a “massage” with that cocky, dark smirk on his face, she didn’t know why she had let him do it, maybe it’s because of boredom or maybe it’s the vanity of a woman. She gave him permission.

She wanted to play with him. She wanted to feel his clumsy, rough warrior hands fumble over her skin. She expected him to get flustered, to let the intense heat of the room and her near-naked body break his composure while she remained perfectly, coolly in control. She wanted to tease him until he was red in the face, remind him of his place, and then kick him out.

She deliberately turned over, lying flat on her stomach on the woven mat. The linen wrap around her hips rode up dangerously high, exposing the curve of her thighs. She rested her chin on her crossed arms, giving him a sultry look over her shoulder. “Fine. Show me this ’technique.’ But if you bruise me, I will boil the blood in your veins.”

She heard the heavy thud of his scabbard hitting the floor. He knelt down right beside her hips.

Zephyra braced herself.

His large, bare hands settled gently onto her bare shoulder blades. His palms were incredibly hot, rough with heavy calluses built from swinging that massive sword. The initial contact sent a sharp, pleasant shiver down her spine. Okay, his hands were steady. Better than she expected.

He started to knead the tight, knotted muscles at the base of her neck.

Zephyra let out a soft, involuntary hum of approval, letting her eyes flutter shut. It actually felt good. His thumbs dug perfectly into the stiff joints, applying just enough heavy pressure to work out the cramps without bruising the meat.

But the moment his hands touched her shoulders, something changed.

And that’s when she realized that the game was over.

She didn’t know if it was his technique or something else, but the moment, his fingertips brushed into her skin, it crashed into her nervous system like a tidal wave of liquid heat.

In a fraction of a second, the deep, agonizing ache in her bones was completely washed away, replaced by a mind-melting, heavy bliss that short-circuited her brain.

What… what is this? Zephyra’s mind scrambled, totally overwhelmed.

Zephyra had panicked for exactly one heartbeat. She realized she was losing control. She realized her mental barriers were dissolving like sugar in boiling water. She should have thrown him off. She should have blasted him across the room with a pulse of essence.

But it felt too good.

It felt so damn good she couldn’t breathe.

Decades of rigid discipline, of keeping her back straight and her face cold, completely evaporated. The touch hijacked her senses, turning the simple friction of his hands on her sweaty back into a roaring fire. Every nerve ending in her body suddenly woke up, screaming for more of that heavy, intoxicating contact.

Her eyes were totally glazed over, swimming with heat, deep confusion, and raw, dripping desire. Her breathing was frantic, her heavy chest heaving against the mat, struggling to pull in enough oxygen.

She tried to form a coherent thought. She tried to tell him to stop, to tell him this was too much, too fast. She was the High Shaman. She was supposed to be in control. She was supposed to be the one teasing him.

But as his rough, calloused thumbs dug into her lower back, sending another wave of that mind-numbing pleasure, the very concept of control just evaporated.