The mansion lay in ruins.
The golden chandeliers that once lit the grand hall were shattered across the floor, their crystals reflecting slivers of dawn. The scent of blood still lingered in the air, mingling with the faint perfume of roses from the garden that had somehow survived the chaos.
Elena woke in Adrian’s bed, wrapped in sheets that smelled of him, spice, smoke, and warmth. Her body ached, her mind heavy with images from the battle: claws tearing through flesh, blood pooling under moonlight, Lucian’s hateful eyes burning crimson before he disappeared.
For a moment, she lay still, listening to the faint hum of life returning to the mansion. Servants whispered outside. Wolves moved carefully through the corridors, repairing damage and tending to the wounded. It was morning again
