Annakel
Selene Marr’s clinic doesn’t look like a clinic.
It looks like a hotel for people who can’t afford to be seen sick.
The building sits behind a gated courtyard of winter-bare trees and glossy stone. No signs. No name on the directory. Just a private security desk that recognizes Alexander before he says a word.
Annakel steps out of the car with Alexander beside her, Viktor behind, Jonah a step back with a briefcase that probably contains a hundred ways to say no.
Her coat is black. Her hair is pinned back. She looks composed in the mirror-glass of the lobby wall.
She feels like she’s bleeding inside.
Because her throat knows Alexander is beside her. Her skin is still faintly sensitive from scenting, and every time he moves, her body registers it like a pulse.
She hates that
