Now sprawled across the bed lay Isaac. His stomach was wrapped in thick, blood-soaked bandages, and his fingers, cut and mangled from a desperate struggle with the person who had hurt him. Now left on the best, he rested limply against the sheets. His chest rose and fell shallowly, each breath a fragile thread tethering him to life.
If she hadn't found him early on, just for another second, Isaac would have been gone for good.
Beside him, Lily knelt, her face streaked with tears as she clutched her brother's hand with trembling fingers. Her voice was hoarse from prayer, breaking with every whispered plea that left her lips.
"Please… please, not him…" she murmured, the words half-choked by sobs.
The sight rooted Arabella where she stood. Her brows furrowed tightly, and her hands curled into fists at her sides. The smell of iron filled the air, sharp and raw, curling through her senses until her stomach turned.
Blood.
That scent, she would never mistake it.
