CHAPTER 122
The morning sun pierced through the heavy velvet curtains like a golden blade, slicing across the expansive mattress.
Lucian was the first to wake, though "wake" was a generous term for the state of semi-consciousness he had existed in for the last few hours.
The moment the first ray of light hit the duvet, his eyes snapped open—the crimson now faded to a dull, weary amber. He didn't move.
Well, he couldn't. Isabella was still tucked firmly against him, her back pressed into his chest, her head pillowed on his arm.
She was a dead weight of warm silk and soft breathing, her presence the only thing anchoring him to the bed when every nerve in his torso was screaming for him to bolt.
