Night had fallen by the time Casian returned to his chamber, only to find it empty.
Or so it seemed—until her scent struck him like a bolt of lightning, wrapping around his senses with the warmth of home and something deeper. His emerald eyes gleamed, and a mysterious smile tugged at the corner of his lips. His mate was near.
His gaze shifted instinctively toward the bathing area, the sound of dripping water soft against the silence. He stepped further into the room and halted.
There she stood.
Lyra.
Clad in nothing but a thin robe, her damp golden hair spilled down to her waist, clinging to her back like strands of sunlight. Her pale skin glistened with water droplets that shimmered under the flickering torchlight, and her delicate chest rose and fell with a heart that beat wildly—though she masked it with practiced calm.
