LUKAS’ POV
The glass of scotch whiskey in my hand trembled ever so slightly, the liquid swirling under the dim chandelier lights hanging above the bar in my castle. The dark wood of the bar, polished and gleaming, reflected my distorted image back at me. My knuckles were white as I gripped the glass, every nerve in my body coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. My reflection mocked me, the scars of the past etched not only into my skin but my soul.
It was her. Freya Nightshade.
Her scent lingered, faint but sharp, like the sting of an old wound reopened. I couldn’t shake it, the memories clawing at me like shadows that refused to dissipate. Every time she was near, my senses betrayed me. My fists clenched at the thought of her audacity, trying to act like we were still besties, walk
