THE PUREBLOOD'S HEARTBEAT
It felt surreal, like an illusion, so he couldn’t help but let his emotions run wild for a moment.
He didn’t care how awkward it was, because the woman cradled in his arms belonged to him, Azael Alarico De Leon, and nothing would change that.
“Pass me the first aid kit,” he ordered.
“Y-yes, my Lord.”
Butler Thomas, the old man, felt awkward at his master’s display of possessiveness, and wanted nothing more than to disappear—if possible, to teleport away and escape the tension in the room.
Butler Thomas watched as Azael carefully disinfected Miss Lynette's wound, as if he were handling fragile glass.
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