CHAPTER 20
THIRD PERSON POV
The wind howled through the bone-white trees as Lucian knelt in the white sand, his fingers locked around Isabella's throat.
Every time he increased the pressure on her windpipe, a jagged spike of agony ripped through his own neck.
It was a mirror of suffering, his own airway felt like it was being crushed by invisible hands but he kept squeezing.
He wanted to kill her. He wanted to end the bond that was making his ancient, cold blood boil with a fever he couldn't control.
"You are a plague," he hissed as Isabella's hands were weak against his forearms, her face turning a bruised shade of violet.
She was a mutt " a wolfless reject of a dying pack, yet she was holding the leash to his sanity.
He looked toward the black water of the river, his mind screaming at him to toss her back, to let the current take the pain away.
But as he began to haul her toward the edge, his own heart—that dead, heavy stone in his chest—trembled.
