Elian's heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic, trapped bird.
The temperature in the dimly lit hallway seemed to skyrocket, suffocating him. He stared up at Lucien, searching the dark, heated depths of those green eyes for a shred of the man who had just staggered against the wall in pain, the man who had silently defended him in the throne room.
But that man was gone, buried beneath layers of pride, a desperate need to reclaim control, and a sharp, dark hunger that was dripping from his body.
"Lucien, we can't..." Elian whispered, his voice trembling despite his best efforts to sound firm. He tried to pull his wrist from Lucien's iron grip, but the hold only tightened, pinning him flush against the Duke's solid, unyielding chest.
