Alaric let the last of the whiskey slide down his throat, the burn a familiar comfort. He placed the empty glass on the table, the clink echoing in the quiet room. His gaze was fixed on Ulyria, lying in his bed, the thin blanket doing little to conceal the enticing curves of her body. A slow smirk spread across his face. He'd been looking forward to this.
He kicked off his boots, the dull thuds punctuating the silence. He moved towards the bed, his steps deliberate, each one a promise. Ulyria's eyes snapped open as he approached, a flicker of apprehension in their depths. She shifted slightly, as if considering escape, but the small room offered no sanctuary. She was his now, a fact he intended to make abundantly clear.
