CHAPTER 37
The golden haze that had filled the room vanished as if the air had been sucked out of the cabin.
The shock of Clara's wide, accusing eyes made Isabella's hands, which had been tangled in Lucian's hair, suddenly find their strength. She shoved against his bare, broad chest in panic.
Lucian, still caught in the intoxicating swirl of her blood and that soul-deep kiss, was caught off guard.
His knee stumbled back on he damp rug until his lower back collided with the edge of the heavy coffee table with an echoing thud.
A low groan escaped his throat—not just from the impact, but from the sudden, agonizing disturbance of their physical connection.
The bond, which had been singing with a radiant heat, suddenly turned into icy wind at Lucain annoyed mood.
"Clara!" Isabella scrambled off the couch, her legs nearly giving out. She ignored the way her own lips felt swollen and hot, ignoring the drop of blood that had dried on her cheek like a brand.
