sat at the grand wooden table, an open book before her, its yellowed pages filled with arcane symbols and faded ink

him left her breathless, her heart caught between exhilaration and terror. And now, after the crypt

ed against her neck, thou

rned s

shadow upon the world. He moved toward her with predatory grace, the dim

Isolde," he murmured, his

s gripping the cover to steady

ched out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her cheek.

"Who are you, really? And don't give me ri

e. He leaned against the table, the candlelight catching

Isolde. But if it is truth you s

worn locket. He placed it before her, his fingers lingering upon its su

voice laced with something she couldn't quite place-

hitched.

f you've lived

humorless laugh.

ulse hammering in her thr

th a quiet, knowing amusement. "You

ered-the disappearances, the whispers of an undying presence in

love that endures beyond the grave,"

his gaze. "And me? Where

trange heat through her veins. "You remind me of her," he admitt

hest. Was she merely a ghost to h

ing," she

Isolde. I merely speak in truth

if I don't want to be her? What if

ou are not a replacement. You ar

ivist, Draven. A woman who reads too many b

with an urgency that sent shivers through her. "Your bl

ll me. No riddles. No half-truth

with a quiet sigh, he stepped back, as i

my darkness," he murmured. "But it s

pounded.

me of her. Not just because your presence eases the centuries of soli

er. The words from the parchment, th

back. "What

sing it to his chest. Though his heart did not beat, she felt

if the world tells you not to. Even if

hould

shou

und herself una