Lucien's unfocused eyes were glazed, a sheen of tears gathering at their corners.
Tiny droplets of moisture clung to the corners of his lashes, glistening softly.
He was still reeling, caught in the heavy aftereffects of coming. Every nerve ending felt raw and hypersensitive, as if the very air against his skin was too much to bear. His limbs felt heavy, pinned to the ground by a pleasant exhaustion that made his muscles twitch rhythmically beneath the surface.
Even after being freed, his lips remained parted—wet, swollen, and trembling—as he greedily drew in deep, ragged breaths. He had heard Zephyr chuckle, a low, magnetic sound that vibrated through him, before a soft whisper brushed against his lips. The sound sent a shiver racing down his spine.
