The scent of smoke lingered in the room, mingled with something softer—cypress and clove, the faintest trace of ozone, and a warmth that didn’t belong to the fire alone.
Rose stirred.
Her eyes opened slowly, lashes heavy against her cheeks. Her body felt unfamiliar—weighted, tender, as though even her bones remembered pain. The firelight danced across the vaulted ceiling, casting long shadows that pulsed with movement. For a moment, she forgot everything. Who she was. What she’d become. The ache in her soul dulled into something distant and foggy.
Then her wings shifted.
Pain bloomed where muscle met bone, hot and electric, running down her spine like fractured lightning. Her horns scraped lightly against the velvet back of the chaise. The movement sent a jolt through her—sharp enough
