LUKAS’S POV
Whiskey burned my throat as I slumped in the dining hall, the bottle glinting under torchlight, my glass slick with amber, half-empty, the clock’s hands dragging past 2:37 a.m. My boots scuffed the hardwood, my leather jacket slung over a chair, my shirt unbuttoned, sweat cooling on my chest, my heart heavy from Callan’s words on the roof—She can’t lose you—and the curse stirring, a beast clawing my veins, my fingers trembling around the glass, crystal biting my palm. Sleep had dodged me, my bed cold after I’d tried lying down, the door to my room locked, keeping me from Selenea’s, her safety my priority, my curse a threat I couldn’t risk.
The curse wasn’t new, years of it simmering, turning me wild, violent, a monster strangling anything near, my mind blank until blood stai
