The night had teeth.
It bit into the castle walls with a wind sharp enough to draw blood, raking along stone and ivy, shrieking through the towers like a soul unchained. Somewhere below, in the heart of that ancient keep, the storm inside Rose finally broke.
She stood in her chamber, surrounded by cracked mirrors and torn silk, her hands trembling, her breath uneven. Power hummed beneath her skin—no, not power. Not entirely. This was something else. Something older. Hungrier.
Azariel whispered in her bones now, not with words, but with presence. A thrum beneath her heartbeat. A shadow curling in the edges of her thoughts. She’d said his name only once—and that had been enough. Enough for him to hear. Enough to answer.
And now…
Now she was unraveling.
Her veins burned like molten gold
