Lucian
The moment Amara whispered the word “charm,” something dark and primal surged in me.
I sat up straighter, blood roaring in my ears. My hands curled into fists, claws just a thought away. Someone had dared to invade our private sanctuary. Worse—they had tried to tamper with my mate.
I moved fast, ignoring the deep c***k of joints protesting the sudden force of my body as I swung out of bed. “Where?” I demanded, voice raw with fury.
She pointed near the mirror. The air still smelled faintly of burnt metal and magic.
I knelt, inspecting the blackened scorch mark on the stone floor. The remains of the charm—a melted sliver of silver and broken runes—lay scattered like ashes. Even in ruin, the dark magic pulsing from it made my skin crawl.
I growled low in my throat.
The scent on
