Cassius turned at the sound of Atlas's voice, his crimson gaze falling on the man's frantic expression. Those wide, terror- tricken blue eyes carried the look of someone who had stared into death itself, and found something far more unbearable.
For men like them, who lived not for themselves but for the fragile warmth of their soulmates, death was hardly the worst fate. No, true torment lay in watching the one they loved slip toward the grave again and again.
"What a wretched fate we share," Cassius murmured, striding toward the bedchamber. His long coat slipped from his shoulders as though it weighed nothing, falling to the floor in a crimson heap. He looked every bit at ease, in contrast to Atlas, whose pulse thundered with dread.
