Damien Nightshade, The Vampire King
She's lying.
Even the subtle change in Isabella's heartbeat, the telltale flutter betraying her calmness, confirmed my suspicions. Her voice, though steady, resonated with a tremor I could pick out with my heightened senses. It was a practiced performance, a well-rehearsed act. Yet, the way she held my gaze with forced defiance, was convincing.
Was it on purpose? Or was it mere politeness, a fragile shield she held up against the undeniable truth – fear. Fear of me, a creature of the night, a being who nearly lost control just hours ago, a predator driven by a primal hunger that could have easily claimed her.
A sigh escaped me. Stepping away from her proved immensely difficult, my muscles screaming in protest at defying the pull she exerted on me. I
