Lucian's blade fell without hesitation.
It cut cleanly through Louise's chest, sliding past ribs and flesh as though the man's body were nothing more than parchment.
Blood sprayed across the snow in a sickening arc, the warm steam rising instantly against the cold air.
Louise's eyes widened in shock. His lips parted, but no sound came. He collapsed forward with a dull thud, his body twitching once before falling still.
Lucian exhaled slowly, his breath clouding in the frigid storm.
It was over.
His blade trembled slightly, not from regret but from the sheer weight of what he had just done. His heart pounded painfully in his chest.
This man, this servant of the strange woman—he could no longer become a threat to the village.
Lucian's grip tightened on his weapon. He turned away. He had to move fast. Jamie would be waiting, and the others were still vulnerable.
But before he could take more than a step, the hairs on the back of his neck rose.
A sound.
