Sleep was a battlefield.
Ivy tossed in tangled sheets, the mark on her neck burning like a brand fresh-carved. The darkness of her chamber pressed heavy, but it was not the quiet of peace—it was the suffocating silence of a predator’s breath. The stone walls seemed to close in around her, the fire in the hearth long since reduced to embers. Each time she closed her eyes, she felt him. Arthur.
In her dreams, shadows prowled the edges of her mind, lean and hungry, their shapes blurring like smoke caught in the wind. And in their heart, Arthur’s voice lingered. Rage bled through the bond, thick as venom, wrapping around her like chains.
You are mine. No silver flame can save you.
The words slithered through her mind, heavy with command.
She jolted upright, chest heaving, the echo of his
