Once Lucien had his bottle, he finally calmed, his tiny fists unclenching as his breaths evened out. But my mind wouldn't stop whirling with possibilities. That man, lurking in those trees, couldn't have possibly been Ravić, that's for sure.
I would know him anywhere, even just by his silhouette. No, this man was shorter, his shoulders narrower, his movements lacking that quiet, dangerous confidence that only comes from someone of his birthright.
I carried Lucien back to his room, rocking him in my arms even as he drank, suddenly not feeling comfortable that we were too close to the window overlooking the trees. I looked down to find his eyelids, slowly getting heavier, despite glow of his red that resembled his father. His lashes, brushing his cheeks in such an adorable way, that I can't help the small smile forcing on my lips.
