SELENEA’S POV
The castle’s bedroom smelled of cedar and candle wax as I sat on the edge of the bed, my leathers creaked, and my eyes fixed on Lukas, his body slumped against the pillows. His dark hair clung to his pale forehead, his chest rose unevenly, and the talisman hung around his neck, glinting faintly in the torchlight. My hands twisted in my lap, my throat tightened, and tears pricked my eyes, the shaman’s words echoed—two months, one of us might die. Lukas’s face held a shadow, his jaw clenched even in rest, and I saw the fear he tried to hide, his curse a storm brewing beneath his skin. I reached out, my fingers brushed his hand, his skin felt cold, and my heart ached, the weight of our deadline pressed against me, his survival uncertain, my need to hold him close overwhelming.
