Isla’s POV
The room reeked of copper and smoke. Blood had soaked into the rug beneath my knees, turning the deep crimson threads almost black in places. My elbow throbbed where I’d hit the floor, but the pain felt distant, like it belonged to someone else. Everything felt distant except him.
Rowan stood over me—except he wasn’t Rowan.
Not really.
His eyes weren’t silver anymore. They were molten red, the kind of red that swallowed light instead of reflecting it. The pupils had narrowed to slits, animal and ancient, and when he looked at me, it wasn’t with the possessive hunger I’d grown used to. It was deeper. Hungrier. Like I was the only thing in the world that existed and he wanted to crawl inside my skin to keep me there forever.
His hand—still slick with blood—cupped my cheek aga
