Isla's pov. The heavy oak doors of Alaric’s private chambers clicked shut, locking the rest of the dangerous world outside. My breath was still coming in short, ragged gasps, my heart hammering violently against my ribs.Alaric threw his obsidian mask onto a velvet armchair. He stripped off his tailored black coat, tossing it aside without a care, before turning his dark, burning gaze entirely on me. Under the dim, warm glow of the fireplace, he looked less like a noble guardian and more like a predator who had finally brought his prize home."You're bleeding," he murmured, his voice a low, rough rumble.I looked down at my arm. A jagged piece of crystal from my shattered silver clutch had sliced open the side of my wrist during the struggle with the assassin. A thin trail of crimson blood was smudging the satin of my red dress. I hadn't even felt it."It's nothing," I whispered, but my voice trembled. The danger of the night, the near-death experience, and the overwhelming prox
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