Diane's hands trembled uncontrollably. Her breath came in short, shallow pulls as her eyes remained fixed on the body before her. This had to be a dream. It had to be. There was no other explanation.
He could not die like this.
Viviane and Isolde had always said the same thing about him. That he was special. That he was fated to destroy vampires, not fall beneath them.
A man strong enough to endure burning, agony, and loss should not be lying motionless in front of her, cold and hollow.
"No," she whispered, shaking her head slowly. "This is Latros' trick. This can't be real."
Latros thrived on deceit. She remembered Mark's words clearly, his promise of evolution, his certainty that she would break.
Of course this was an illusion. A deliberate cruelty meant to push her mind past its limit, to force her to evolve or collapse entirely.
That was what she wanted to believe.
