The fire crackled and popped inside the hearth, filling the chilly room with a steady wave of warmth and light. The logs Isiah had stacked snapped softly as the flames consumed them, driving back the bitter cold that clung to the stone walls.
Lexie lay motionless atop the mattress, her body completely depleted from the spell. Yet despite her severe weakness, she mustered enough breath to call out his name from behind. Her voice was barely a whisper, yet the sound cut through the quiet room, sparking a sudden, sharp tension between them.
When her lips formed his name, she had doubted he would even bother to turn around.
Isiah remained still by the hearth, offering no response. He merely stared at her from across the room, his dark eyes hollow.
"Isiah..." she repeated, her breath coming in ragged, stolen gasps.
Each syllable demanded an immense, painful effort. Her chest rose and fell in heavy, labored pulses, as though merely speaking threatened to drain her remaining strength.
