NOLA
The heavy, oppressive atmosphere of the basement felt like a lifetime away as I sat across from my father in the small, cozy breakfast nook that overlooked the manor’s gardens. It was nearly midnight, but neither of us could sleep. The moonlight was spilling through the floor to ceiling windows, painting the kitchen in shades of silver and soft blue, but the real warmth came from the oversized mug of cocoa sitting between my father’s hands.
Lawrence looked better than he had in weeks. The sickly pallor of the coma had finally been replaced by a faint, healthy flush, though he was currently wearing a dressing gown that was at least two sizes too big for him and a pair of fuzzy socks Silas had unearthed from a guest room. He looked less like the terrifying Alpha of the North and more
