Chapter 47: BloodThe room smelled like antiseptic trying to cover something older, something copper and patient, the kind of smell that lives in walls no matter how many times you scrub them. I sat with my hands folded so no one would see them shake, and across from me Isabella sat like a queen already crowned, spine straight, chin tilted, a woman arriving at a destination rather than waiting for one.Dr. Whitmore's hands didn't shake. That was the first wrong thing. A man about to deliver the truth of a mate bond should carry some tremor of human uncertainty. His were steady as scalpel work, and he would not look at Isabella — not once, not even by accident.That was the second wrong thing."Isabella first," he said, and the needle slid into her arm without so much as a flinch from her, because pain has never touched Isabella the way it touches the rest of us. She watched Daemon while her blood filled the vial, dark and unhurried, and I watched her watch him — memorizing the shape o
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