Gianna

I sit down on the bed beside Lorcan. I take his hand in mine, bring it to my lips, and kiss his knuckles. I touch my fingertips to his cheek; he’s as cold as ice.

The stubble on his jaw is not something I’m used to. Luther is the Dalgaard brother with the stubble; it distinguished him from Leander and Lorcan. Looking at my mate now, he’s the image of Luther in every way. It’s scary to see just how alike they are.

I wipe the tears from my face and press my forehead to Lorcan’s.

“Where do you think you’re going without me?”

I hear much crying coming from behind me, but I don’t pay much attention. All I can do is hum to my mate, a tune that I used to play on the violin for him. Lorcan loved to hear me playing the violin; he said that it calmed his inner demons.