HIS POISONOUS POSSESSION
But here, in the dim, flickering light of the dying fire, he looked up at Ivy with eyes that were no longer just golden; they were shattered.
The scratches on his arm, where Ivy’s nails had carved into his skin during the peak of their visceral union, were not glowing with magic—they were weeping a dark, sluggish fluid that seemed to drain the very iron from his resolve. The "poison" Ivy had mentioned wasn't a supernatural curse; it was a potent, concentrated sedative found in the hidden compartment of the 1890 box, a "last resort" the first Isabella had prepared for a Moretti who refused to be tamed.
Bab Populer