POV: Seraphina
The taste of him lingers on my lips long after he pulls away.
I'm breathing hard, and so is he. His silver eyes burn with conflict, like he's waging a war inside his own head. His hands are still on my waist, trembling slightly.
"This was a mistake," Lucien says, but he doesn't let go.
"It didn't feel like one."
"You don't understand what you're asking." He steps back, finally releasing me, and the loss of his warmth hits like a physical thing. "I'm not capable of gentle. I'm not capable of the love story you deserve. I'm five hundred years of rage and grief, and you want to throw yourself at that?"
I steady myself against the marble bench. My head throbs, but I ignore it. "I'm asking you to be honest. You said you want me. So either you're lying, or you're just afraid."
Direct hit. I see it in the way his jaw clenches.
