Within the coldness of the Western Tower, Elias stood before the mirror. His fingers brushed over the fresh mark on his neck, and he winced—pain vibrating through his body.
Everything seemed to be happening rather too fast for his liking, the memories flooding like a river. It had happened so fast, but then he could not bring himself to forget Rowan's touch—the feelings that erupted within him when his teeth sank deep into his skin.
Elias knew it wasn't just the mark; the claim was not only on his skin but on his soul—and that feeling he anticipated yet dreaded most.
Elias was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't hear Rowan walk in. Staring at the back of the man before him. He looked rather too pale, his fingers on the mark, and his body winced as if it burned.
Rowan stepped closer, then halted—his legs too heavy to move further. The air around them was not the same. His presence commanded the room as always, but then uncertainty flickered within those ancient eyes.
