Klara stood frozen, eyes open wide in shock.

The iron rod was still loose in Alec’s hand like an afterthought.

His last words hung between them, heavy and deliberate.

“Strip.”

Her pulse thundered in her throat. “What?”

Alec didn’t blink. “You heard me.”

“Why?” The question came out small, almost childlike. She hated how it sounded.

He tilted his head, studying her as though she just asked a stupid question. “Roman’s on his way. And you look like shit.”

He gestured vaguely at her blood-crusted temple, matted hair, torn clothes streaked with dirt and warehouse grime.

“The least you can do is look presentable for the man of your dreams.”...