CHAPTER 104
The steam in the ensuite bathroom was thick and heavy, a humid shroud that clung to the dark, cold marble walls and blurred the sharp edges of the gilded mirrors into shimmering ghosts of gold.
Lucian stood motionless beneath the punishing downpour of the shower, his head bowed, the water scalding enough to blister the skin of any living human.
He didn't feel the heat. He didn't feel the sting of the spray. All he felt was the suffocating weight of his own limbs and the echo of ivory claws still raking across his psyche, tearing through his memory of who he was.
He had remained by Isabella's side for another hour, his vigil silent and unyielding, watching the constant rise and fall of her chest until the sight of the dirt and drying blood on her skin became a burden he could no longer endure.
It was his blood, it was her blood, and it was the filth of that collapsing dimension—all of it mingled together on her pale skin.
