Haunted by Your Love

The bridal chamber smelled like rose oil and new cloth. Candles burned low, their flames shaking as if someone walked past them. Lysandra lay back against silk sheets, her wrists still tingling from the last clasp of her veil. Adrian’s hands were gentle as he smoothed the edge of her dress, like he could calm the world by touch alone.

She had waited her whole life for this moment. For a man who chose her and did not flinch away from her oddness. Her pale-gold eyes caught the candlelight and, for a second, the glow in her soul answered it—warm and bright—like a promise.

Adrian’s mouth brushed her temple. “Lysandra,” he said, slow and quiet. His voice was steady, but his shoulders stayed tense, like he expected an alarm. She let out a shaky breath and tried to believe the fear would sleep tonight.