The black sands of the Shadow Realm felt like shards of ice against Lucian's knees, but he couldn't feel the cold. He could only feel the terrifying lightness of the woman in his arms. Lyra was becoming a ghost before his eyes, a shimmering mirage of silver mist that defied the solidity of his realm.
"Look at me," Lucian commanded, his voice cracking like breaking stone. He tried to cup her face, but his palms brushed through her cheeks as if he were trying to catch a dream. "Lyra, stay focused. Stay with me."
"I'm trying," she whispered, her voice a thin thread of sound. "But Lucian... it's like I'm being pulled by a thousand invisible hooks. I can hear them. The priests... they're still chanting in the white light."
Lucian stood abruptly, the shadows around him erupting in a violent, chaotic swirl. He didn't just look like a King; he looked like a god of ruin. He had just burned a heaven for her, and yet the "Sun-Reach" was still trying to claim its prize.
The Desperate Union
