CHAPTER 115
The silence that reclaimed the room after Marco's departure was not merely an absence of sound.
It was suffocating with the discordant echoes of a history that logically should not exist. It was a history written in blood and betrayal, yet here it sat, pulsing in the very air he breathed.
Lucian stood like a pillar of shadow in the center of his expansive office, his lungs drawing in the scent of aged, dusty parchment and the lingering, intoxicating sweetness of Isabella's unique aromaa.
In his fragmented mind, he was no longer confined within the black walls of his sanctuary.
He was transported back to that damp, lightless forest. He could still feel the terrifying, electrifying rush of lust and raw life that had surged through his veins the exact moment his fangs had first pierced the velvet of her skin, a sensation so potent it had nearly shattered his fractured mind.
