Lucain didn't ask what they were talking about, he simply didn't care. "The cabin is clear," Lucian said, his voice a low vibration that seemed to pull at the bond in Isabella's chest.
To Isabella's utter shock, she watched as the witch stepped onto the muddy bank fully naked, her pale skin glistening under the evening settling sun.
Droplets of water tracing the curves of a body that had clearly been preserved by centuries of vanity.
The witch didn't reach for her discarded, soggy gown or try to shield herself with the murky lake water. She didn't look like a woman who had just vomited blood even, she looked like a woman claiming a prize.
Isabella, still chest deep in the freezing water, felt a surge of pure, unadulterated annoyance.
She rolled her eyes so hard it actually hurt, a huff of disbelief escaping her lips. Seriously? The world is ending, we're all covered in magical salt, and she's trying to audition for a romance novel?
