CHAPTER 55
Isabella's hands flew up instinctively, her fingers digging into Lucian's iron-hard wrist as the rim of the cup bruised her lip.
Her body jerked against his crushing weight, a desperate, frantic struggle against the inevitable.
The liquid was thick, hot, and cloyingly sweet, hitting her tongue with a flavor that was terrifyingly potent.
The sheer thickness of the blood made her throat seize. She choked, sputtering out a small, dark trickle of red that trailed down the corner of her mouth to stain the expensive charcoal silk of the sheets.
But Lucian didn't budge. He was an immovable mountain of cold resolve. His hand remained locked on her jaw, his thumb pressing firmly into the hinge of her cheek to keep her mouth open, ruthlessly guiding the heavy liquid down.
"Swallow," his voice commanded, vibrating through the bond. She gasped, the liquid nearly sliding into her windpipe before she instinctively gulped to keep from drowning.
