CHAPTER 62: THE BRIDE AND THE DEAD SOLDIER
SILVER'S POV
The shadows clinging to the far corner of my guest quarters did not belong there.
I had been sitting at the very edge of my mattress, staring blankly at the flickering amber crystal set into the stone wall, when the atmospheric pressure in the room plummeted. The ambient warmth of the subterranean suite vanished in a single, terrifying heartbeat, replaced by a deep, bone-chilling frost that caused my breath to instantly plume into white clouds before my eyes. The sudden, violent drop in temperature made my skin prickle, a primitive warning system screaming that something unnatural had just violated the perimeter of my sanctuary.
I scrambled backward on instinct, my bare heels digging into the heavy blankets as my spine slammed hard against the carved wooden headboard. My gaze locked onto the tall, unmoving silhouette looming just beside the heavy velvet window drapes.
It was Ian.
