The guest suite in the West Wing felt like a museum that had been frozen in time. Jax led Elena through a set of heavy double doors into a room that was larger than her entire apartment back in the city. The furniture was dark wood, intricately carved, and the bed was draped in heavy silver-grey silk.
"The dust is gone," Elena noted, running a finger along the edge of a mahogany dresser. "How is it so clean if nobody has been here in a hundred years?"
"The house," Jax said, leaning against the doorframe. He looked tired, the shadows under his eyes more prominent now that the adrenaline from the chamber was fading. "It prepares for guests it expects. It’s been waiting for a Crescent Moon for a long time."
Elena sat on the edge of the bed, the silk cool against her skin. She still had the
