Arabella's eyes narrowed, a faint frown ghosting over her face. A man with red eyes… black hair… Wasn't that the very image of the King of Versailles— the vampire monarch whispered about in every court and sorcerer's circle?
The thought should have meant nothing. And yet, something in her chest stirred.
A sudden image, vivid as a memory, flooded her mind: a tall figure standing against the light, broad shoulders cloaked in shadow, the sun itself dimming behind him. A small grin curved the corners of his lips, one that never seemed to fade, even when anger burned behind his eyes. A sculpted nose, a chiseled jaw… a face that should have been foreign, yet her pulse betrayed her.
Why did those features feel so familiar? She did not know him. She couldn't. And yet every detail rang through her like an echo from another life.
