The descent into Lyon was smooth, the Gulfstream cutting through the heavy winter clouds just as the city lights began to blink off in the early hours of the morning.
Elara was half-asleep against Lucian’s chest when the landing gear touched down. The sheer mental exhaustion of outmaneuvering the High Council had finally drained her completely. Lucian didn’t wake her. He simply wrapped her in his heavy wool overcoat and carried her off the jet, down the tarmac, and straight into the waiting armored SUV.
For a brief, beautiful hour, the world felt safe.
But as the convoy navigated the slick, rain-swept streets of Lyon toward the glass fortress, Elara felt a subtle, rigid shift in the man holding her.
Through the golden thread of their bond, the warm, protective hum of his aura spike
