Aveline
The sound of the heavy deadbolt sliding into place was a rhythmic execution of my hope.
Matteo had left ten minutes ago, his face a mask of fractured granite after seeing my sketchbook. He hadn’t waited for an answer; the arrival of the Council’s Executioners at the gate had forced his hand. He’d shoved the book into the pocket of his tactical vest, gripped my jaw with a bruising, desperate strength, and told me that if I moved from the room, he’d let the Council have me.
Now, I was alone in the silence of his suite, the scent of him—cedar, rain, and that dark, intoxicating musk from our encounter in the bathroom—clinging to my skin like a shroud. My body still felt the phantom heat of his touch, my pulse still stuttering from the way he’d looked at me before the world fell apar
