CHAPTER 53
The air in Lucian's private wing felt different from the rest of the mansion—thicker, quieter, as though the walls themselves were holding their breath.
Lucian stood by the expansive floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the Sentinel lying in the foyer below.
He had laid Isabella on his bed—a massive expanse of dark silk he had barely touched since his waking.
She looked painfully small against the deep charcoal sheets, her skin pale, the faint lavender veins along her neck pulsing with a soft light that matched the steady beat of her heart.
He didn't need to look at her to know she was alive. He could feel her. Even now, in unconsciousness, her mind brushed against his.
…cold…
The thought was so faint it was almost a ghost, but Lucian felt it instantly. He turned and crossed the room, stopping at her side. With careful hands, he pulled the blankets higher, tucking them around her neck.
