CHAPTER 108
The silence that reclaimed the room following Marco's departure was a pressurized, suffocating weight that seemed to vibrate with the hum of the fluorescent lights.
Lucian stood by the bed, his shadow stretching across the silk sheets. He felt the hollow, agonizing ache of his hunger in his gut that demanded the metallic sweetness of life but he ignored it.
His eyes were fixed on the rise and fall of Isabella's chest. Forty-eight hours of watching her soul drift in a sea of guilt that he could feel through the frayed edges of their bond.
Slowly, with a hand that trembled almost imperceptibly, Lucian reached out. He didn't touch her skin—not yet—but his fingers hovered just above the pulse point in her neck, feeling the radiant, simmering heat that still clung to her.
The Lycan's fire had cooled, settling into the marrow of her bones, becoming a permanent part of the girl who used to think she was nothing more than an outlier.
