The chill of the night air clung to Serena's skin like a heavy shroud, but it was the absence of sound that weighed down more than any wind. Serena stood in the courtyard, her breath coming sharp and ragged in the cold October air. Her heart raced — with anger, shock or pain? Maybe all three. Her mother, Isolde, and Mira disappeared like ghosts and faded into the night, but their presence still lingered, heavy in her mind. There presence was suffocating, choking.
"Isolde is right about one thing," Lucian growled, his voice low and stretched tight, low as evening low as night. Then there he was next to Serena, jaw set, brow to the sky as if waiting for something to come and peak and tear the dark in half.
"What's that?" Serena said, her voice firm, but she could smell the implication in her mind like bad perfume.
