CHAPTER 184
The dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight cutting through the heavy drapes, the only thing moving in a room that had become Isabella's entire world for the last three days.
She stood in the center of the plush rug, staring at the closed door, realizing that she had spent seventy-two hours memorizing every grain in the wood, and every shift in the air that signaled Lucian's return.
Three days. It felt like three years. She hadn't stepped foot outside the master suite since the morning the world broke open.
She hadn't seen the sky unless it was from her window, hadn't felt the bite of the Northern wind, and hadn't faced the hallway where Alaric was likely still fighting the remnants of his biology.
Lucian provided the updates of the kid constantly. He told her the kid was coping, that his rut was finally breaking, and that Clara was handling him with her usual icy competence.
