CHAPTER 101
Lucian pressed his palms flat against the cold, vibrating stone of the floor, his long hair pressed against his forehead as he felt the rush of displaced air.
The Lycan's massive frame sailed over him, her momentum carrying her past his kneeling form.
The room shook as she landed, her claws skidding across the floor with a sound like shrieking metal.
She pivoted instantly, her muscles coiled to snap his spine, but then... she faltered. The predator was prepared for a fight.
It was prepared for the rival to snarl back, to claw for dominance, to justify the bloodlust screaming in its marrow. It was not prepared for this.
Lucian remained motionless. He offered no scent of fear, no spike of adrenaline, and most importantly, no resistance.
He laid himself bare—the King of the Unholy, reduced to a silent supplicant at the feet of his own mate.
I am not your enemy, he whispered into the void of the bond, his eyes closed. I am yours, Isabella.
