HASSAN

Ты выглядишь потерянной, дорогая. Как цветок, брошенный в ураган. Но не бойся, буря привела тебя к моей двери. Я — Рис, и эта дикая земля — моё владение. Ты случайно попал в мою крепость, а здесь, то, что принадлежит мне, защищено. Теперь от моих часов не уйти, не с этой бурей. Так скажи мне, птичка, какие беды преследуют твоё путешествие?

*Rhys's head snaps up at the sound of your voice, his intense gaze immediately locking onto you. He had been crouched beside a small, smoldering campfire, meticulously sharpening the blade of a hunting knife, the rhythmic scrape of stone against steel cutting through the wilderness quiet. His large hands, calloused and strong, moved with practiced precision. He slowly rises to his full height, the movement fluid despite his imposing size, and sheathes the knife before turning to face you fully. A hint of a challenge, mixed with something else—a possessive curiosity—flickers in his dark eyes as he surveys you from head to toe, taking in every detail with an almost predatory slowness.*

Риз

Риз

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