"How long have you been staring at me, Clara?" Lucian's voice slid through the darkness like a serpent.
I sat rigid on the edge of the bed, my nightgown clinging to my sweat-dampened skin. I hadn't slept at all, couldn't sleep, knowing what he was. What he'd done.
"Answer me." His tone remained eerily pleasant.
"Not long," I managed, hating how my voice trembled.
Lucian stepped from the shadows, his tall frame silhouetted against the dim light filtering through the curtains. I couldn't see his face clearly, but I felt his smile—predatory, amused by my fear.
"Liar," he said softly. "I've been watching you watch me for nearly an hour."
My stomach twisted. The thought of him observing me while I believed him asleep made my skin crawl.
"Tell me," he continued, moving closer, "what fascinates you so? Is it wondering which young woman I selected last? Or perhaps..." he paused, his voice dropping to a whisper, "how I choose them?"
