🩷Talia🩷 The firelight painted warm gold across the stone walls, flickering shadows dancing like ghosts of old. Talia sat on the edge of the bed Ronan had insisted she take, wrapped in a heavy wool blanket that still didn’t stop the chill in her blood. It wasn’t the cold. It was what she remembered—the Beast’s breath against her neck, the weight of its claw, the sensation of being watched by something ancient and hungry even before it attacked. She pressed trembling fingers to the base of her throat, half expecting to find blood still drying. But there was none. Only a faint soreness and bruising. A mark. A claim? She pulled the collar of her sweater higher. Footsteps echoed softly in the hall, and her body tensed before she recognized the gait—heavy, purposeful. Ronan. He stopped outside her door. She waited, expecting a knock, expecting something… but he didn’t enter. Just silence. Then: “Talia?” His voice, rougher than usual, carried something restrained in it. “I’m awake,
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