The morning sun sliced through her window like a blade, blinding and cruel. Amelia sat bolt upright, her heart still galloping, breath ragged. The dream lingered like smoke in her throat—Lucien’s hands, his mouth, the mark glowing black on her skin.
Her thighs still ached.
She scrambled from the bed, yanked a hoodie over her head, and shoved open her bedroom door.
And slammed into Raze.
He caught her shoulders, steadying her—but froze.
Then—he snarled.
“What the f**k is that smell?”
She flinched. “What—?”
Raze's eyes turned gold. Wild. Dangerous. His nostrils flared. “Who touched you?”
“N-No one.”
“Don’t lie to me, Amelia.” His voice was low. Razor-sharp. “I smell him. Lucien.”
Her blood turned to ice.
“It was a dream,” she whispered, backing up. “It wasn’t real—”
His hands sl
