Greta Lovelace
Greta Lovelace
I stepped cautiously into the cot, my eyes flitting around the sparse furnishings. The bed was neatly made, the dresser was closed, and yet, despite its tidiness, I felt a heaviness in the air that almost seemed to be seeping through me. The silence, too, was thick and oppressive.
Desperately inhaling in an effort to catch a whiff of Vladimir's honeysuckle scent, I knew immediately that he wasn't there. My heart sank as I realized that he had been gone for far too long—it was unlikely he would ever return here again.
Grief-stricken and unable to contain my sadness any longer, I swiftly ran my hand reflexively over the half-broken mate mark on my neck before muttering under my breath, " Where are you, Vladimir?" But even this simple name hung in the air lik
