-Ronan Hale
I should have walked away sooner.
I should have turned my back the second I saw them—before I saw too much.
But I didn't.
I stood there, watching.
Watching the way Lucien kissed her. The way he held her, so careful, so desperate like she was something fragile. Watching the way she clung to him, how she melted into his touch.
I should have hated it. Should have felt sick, disgusted, something normal.
Instead, I just felt… strange.
It sat low in my gut, coiling, twisting, pulling tight in a way I didn't understand.
Lucien hadn't just kissed her. He'd kissed me—not directly, not really, but the taste of me had still been on her lips. On his lips.
That thought should have pissed me off.
It did piss me off.
Didn't it?
My hands clenched into fists as I stalked down the dark hall, barely aware of where I was going. My pulse was too quick, my chest too tight, and my thoughts—my stupid, fucked-up thoughts—still tangled with the image of them.
Lucien.
Elara.
