CHAPTER 99
The transition was sudden. One moment, Lucian was kneeling on the freezing, familiar stone of his mansion; the next, he was watching the opposite wall of the east wing disintegrate.
The realm of the Veiled space opened to orange lights and the air was heavy—thick with the scent of forests, scorched jasmine, and the copper tang of fear
Lucian barely had time to straighten up before the room itself seemed to revolt against his intrusion.
The atmospheric pressure shifted so suddenly that a heavy, scarred wooden chair came hurtling toward him from the inside.
Quickly, Lucian threw his hand out. He didn't even look as his hand stopped the wood before it hits him.
Lucian stood amidst the swirling dust of the breach, his hand still outstretched, the shattered remains of the wooden chair falling at his feet.
His senses were reeling; the transition had been like being plunged into a bath of ice and fire simultaneously.
