Chapter 40: Who has his attention.

Lucain didn’t ask what they were talking about, he simply didn’t care. “The cabin is clear,” Lucian said, his voice a low vibration that seemed to pull at the bond in Isabella’s chest.

To Isabella’s utter shock, she watched as the witch stepped onto the muddy bank fully naked, her pale skin glistening under the evening settling sun.

Droplets of water tracing the curves of a body that had clearly been preserved by centuries of vanity.

The witch didn’t reach for her discarded, soggy gown or try to shield herself with the murky lake water. She didn’t look like a woman who had just vomited blood even, she looked like a woman claiming a prize.

Isabella, still chest deep in the freezing water, felt a surge of pure, unadulterated annoyance.

She rolled her eyes so hard it actually hurt, a huff of disbelief escaping her lips. Seriously? The world is ending, we’re all covered in magical salt, and she’s trying to audition for a romance novel?

Clara walked straight toward Lucian, seductively swaying her hips that screamed of ancient familiarity.

She stopped inches from him, the height difference forcing her to tilt her head back, exposing the elegant line of her throat.

“I’ve always preferred your care to the elements, Lucian,” she purred, her voice honeyed that ignored the fact that she’d just threatened to destroy the girl behind her.

She reached out, her fingers grazing his bare forearm as she moved to take the blanket from his hand, her eyes locked on his with an intensity that made the air feel heavy.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Isabella muttered under her breath, splashing a hand against the surface.

She expected Lucian to be staring at the naked, legendary witch standing a breath away from him.

Any man would. But as Isabella moved closer to the shore, ready to snap a comment about “decency,” she realized something that made her heart skip a beat.

Lucian wasn’t looking at Clara. Despite the woman practically pressing her bare skin against his space, Lucian’s head was turned toward the lake.

His now gray stormy eyes were fixed entirely on Isabella, tracking her every movement. He didn’t even glance down as Clara’s fingers took the blanket; his hand remained outstretched toward the water, waiting for Isabella.

Isabella felt a jolt of pure, petty satisfaction. It bloomed in her chest, warmer than the lake water was cold.

She watched from the corner of her eye as Clara wrapped the blanket around herself, her seductive smirk faltering as she realized she was being treated like a piece of furniture he was finished with.

“Stop playing in the shallows and come here.” Lucain voice dropped into a warning growl. Isabella quickly moved toward the bank, her movements slowing immediately as she realized she was about to step out of the water.

Shyness suddenly warred with her triumph. She wasn’t like Clara; she didn’t have centuries of practice in using her body like a weapon.

But as she glanced at the witch who was now standing on the grass, glaring at her with enough venom to kill a forest, Isabella’s spine straightened.

Clara could walk out with all the confidence of a queen, but Lucian’s eyes weren’t on the Queen.

They were raking over Isabella, dark and intense, tracking every inch of skin as it broke the surface.

She reached him, her breath hitching at the sheer heat radiating from his frame. She didn’t look at his face, too flustered by the way his gaze felt like a physical touch on her skin.

Flashback of that intense kiss flooded her vision that almost made her trip but she reached out and snatched the second blanket from his hand.

She wrapped it around herself in a flurry of movement, tucking the heavy wool tight under her chin.

“Thank you,” she whispered, finally looking up.

She gave him a small, genuine smile. Lucian didn’t smile back—he didn’t even blink—but the stormy gray of his eyes seemed to darken for a fraction of a second.

Without a word, he turned on his heel and began the trek back toward the cabin, trying his possible best to not give anything away to the bond that would alert Isabella of how her skin had affected him badly.

Isabella stayed back for a moment, her eyes landing on Clara. The witch was staring at Lucian’s retreating back, her expression a mix of longing and a deep, simmering rage that he had ignored her for the “abomination.”

Isabella leaned in slightly, her voice low enough that only the two of them could hear over the rustle of the trees.

“You shouldn’t be so afraid,” Isabella said, her tone light but edged with steel. “I don’t even want to be bonded to him.” Clara’s lip curled, ready to snap back, but Isabella beat her to it.

“But,” Isabella added, a playful, dangerous spark in her eyes as she glanced at Lucian’s broad shoulders, “if you threaten me again, I might just change my mind. I mean… he is really good looking, don’t you think?”

She didn’t wait for Clara’s head to explode. Isabella flashed her a bright, taunting smile and walked off, the heavy blanket trailing in the grass behind her.

As the distance between her and the lake grew, the edge in Isabella’s smile faded. She exhaled slowly, the bravado draining out of her chest like air from a punctured lung.

She didn’t mean it. Not really.

The idea of wanting Lucian—of choosing this bond, this man, this chaos—still felt too big, too sharp to hold without bleeding.

What she’d said to Clara hadn’t been desire. It had been armor. A way to strike back at a woman who only understood power when it was brandished like a blade.

Isabella tightened her grip on the blanket and told herself it didn’t matter. Words were just words. She had only said them to survive the moment.

Still… the way Lucian hadn’t looked at Clara lingered in her thoughts longer than she liked.

Meanwhile a few paces ahead, Lucian’s pace didn’t falter. He kept walking, his face a mask of regal indifference, but his ears had caught every word.

A strange, unfamiliar pull tugged at the corner of his mouth—not quite a smile, but something close enough to be dangerous.

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