CHAPTER 134
The master suite was a sprawling sanctuary of cold shadows—a stark contrast to the lingering, domestic warmth of the kitchen where Isabella remained.
Below, she was likely finishing the meal that had been so violently interrupted by the arrival of ghosts and the shattering weight of ancient revelations, but up here, the air was still and thin.
Lucian stepped through the double doors, the absolute silence of the room rising to meet him like a familiar, old friend.
He made his way toward the expansive, dark-wood dressing area, his hand instinctively rising to the center of his chest, fingers pressing against the fabric of his garment.
Beneath the fine silk of the shirt, he could feel the dampness spreading. The wound was still weeping.
Despite his lineage and his power, the skin there was stubbornly refusing to knit together with the usual supernatural speed of his kind.
