Marcellus' POV
*****
The stench of scorched silk and charred flesh lingered in the air like a bitter perfume.
Marcellus stood over Madame Greyheart's crumpled body, her lifeless eyes still wide with terror, her mouth twisted in a final, silent scream. A twitch of a smile played on his lips.
He clenched his fists slowly, feeling the raw pulse of power snake through his veins like liquid fire. His magic, once dulled after Kaelos attacked him at the Charity Ball and left him badly injured, now surged renewed with the life force he'd stolen.
The last trace of her soul had faded minutes ago. At least her strong werewolf bloodline would no longer go to waste in her weak frame.
"Pathetic woman," He murmured, his voice calm but filled with disdain.
He straightened his spine and lifted his chin, taking one last look at the ruined chamber. Blood had seeped into the carpet on the floor, and the lingering scent of death still hung in the air.
