CHAPTER 63: ACCUSATIONS IN SILK
HAZEL'S POV
The smoke from the shattered oak door had barely begun to curl toward the low stone ceiling before my entire world narrowed down to a single, infuriating image.
I stood in the ruined threshold of the guest quarters, my breathing ragged, my extended claws still dripping with the residual magical static of the defense wards I had just brutally torn apart with my bare hands. The metallic tang of my own blood from the earlier truth ritual was sharp on my tongue, but the heat surging through my veins right now had nothing to do with ancient magic and everything to do with the two figures standing shoulder-to-shoulder in the freezing dark.
Silver and Ian.
