Chapter 48: Talk that Talk
Conor Lesnar.
Dark brown hair falling just past his collar, eyes the same shade but colder, sharper. His jaw was strong, clean-shaven, and his skin smelled faintly of something expensive—like leather and spice, but he looked nothing like Craig Lesnar.
This was the face behind the whispers. The man she’d been imagining ever since she arrived at Belford. Rumors had teeth, but reality had claws—and now she was face to face with it.
Merlina stood still, memorizing him. No tattoos. No piercings. No hint of the monster she thought she’d see. Just a man who carried his power quietly, the kind that didn’t need to shout to threaten. A storm that didn’t thunder until it was right overhead.
He caught her staring. "Lost words?"
His voice was casual, but it carried a sharp edge—like a knife wrapped in silk. Merlina blinked. She’d imagined this moment a thousand different ways, but nothing prepared her for how calm he looked. How normal.
"Who are you?" he asked again, more direct this time.
"Merlina." Her voice came out steady, but her body betrayed her—heart pounding so loud, she was sure he could hear it.
He stared. "What do you want?"
She could feel her throat tightening, her lungs barely able to pull air. Her fingers curled into her sleeves. "I need to speak with you. Alone."
He chuckled, glancing at the girl beside him, Holly. She gave Merlina a once-over and rolled her eyes like she couldn’t believe the audacity.