#Chapter 80 – The Truth

Lila I woke to the sound of my own breathing. Shallow. Steady. Alive. The air smelled like rosemary and smoke, the faint tang of antiseptic salve lingering just beneath it. My body was a patchwork of ache and numbness, like someone had stitched me back together with cold thread and firelight. I didn’t move yet. Just stared at the ceiling—vaulted, ornate, unfamiliar. The royal infirmary? I recognized the soft cotton of the sheets, the faint creak of the leather chair nearby. The pillow smelled like warm herbs and him. Damon had been here. I turned my head slightly. The hearth burned low. A steaming teacup sat untouched on the bedside table, faint curls of warmth still rising from its rim. My throat tightened. The last thing I remembered clearly was his arms around me. The sound of his voice, raw and shaken. The scent of blood and salt and the spice of him. The heat of his mouth on my neck. The bond. My fingers drifted toward the mark. The skin was tender there, humming fai