Warlock Ch 400. A Ghost
Damian walked through the quiet corridor, cloak clinging loosely to his shoulders, still half-damp where Victoria's bite had drawn blood earlier.
The old manor's walls hummed softly with protective wards, and the scent of incense—probably Evelyn's doing—lingered in the air with a faint floral sharpness. He rubbed a thumb along the edge of his jaw, still sore from whatever spell she'd cast mid-climax. Hell of a way to start a morning.
By the time he reached the living room, the air had already shifted.
He knew she was here before he saw her. The mana pressure alone gave her away—heavy, precise, calculated. Like a blade so sharp you'd only know you'd been cut once it was too late.
The dragon general stood by the window, arms crossed, her armor pristine as always, though her eyes—those piercing, molten gold eyes—were already sizing him up.
One of Damian's shadow servants stood nearby, waiting for a dismissal.
