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The world was so warm but now it felt… cold.

Nightmares plagued him.

His father was whipping his mother mercilessly. She pleaded with him to let Lazarus live as he whipped her. There was blood all over on the ground. Seven-year-old Lazarus wanted to come out of his hiding and protect his mother, but she had locked him inside a small closet, forbidding him to come out. Why did his father hate him so much?

The scene shifted to dazzling moonlight over the snow. Emma was running towards him. His mate. His fangs grew sharper and he opened his arms.

His fingers moved to his side to find the familiar warmth in which he was going to sink himself. But he was met with the rustle of cold sheets. He peeled open his eyes and found her missing. His nightmare still bouncing around his head, he panicked and bellowed.

The day was about to start and she had disappeared. She was drunk last night and he didn't know if she had lost her way out. She was not safe without him. Where was she? He needed to protect her till Maeve entered her body.

He tossed the blanket aside that was smelling of her and rushed outside even though the day had begun. His skin began to heat.

He opened her room's door with a bang and found her sitting in front of the dresser with Ginger who was pinning her hair. The moment Ginger saw him, she hurried out of the room. Lazarus closed the door behind her without turning behind. He leaned against the door.

Emma got up and started to draw the curtains in as sunlight had begun peeping through the window. When she finished, she came near him.

Her eyes widened and they rounded at the corner. "Are you fine?"

He continued to stare at her. "I want my bride, Maeve. In you."

"But she isn't here." Ginger had informed her that Maeve had left for Vilinski. "And you can't until the ritual."

His chest rumbled in a dangerous growl.

"Lazarus," she said as she closed the gap between them with concern in her eyes.

He clenched his jaws as she came closer to him. He wanted to revel in her scent, wanted to smell her hair, bury his head in her nape and smell her blood. Maybe, taste a little.

She came very close to him and craned her neck up to gaze into his eyes. Her eyes were a beautiful emerald green. They were rounded at the corners like that of a baby owl. Her lips trembled as she let out a rough breath. Her hands trembled as she lifted them to touch him.

He narrowed his eyes on her, frozen at his spot. Would she touch him or would she be repulsed? His claws grew in anticipation and they dug in the flesh of his palms. As her hand neared his naked chest, her hands started to shake more.

At the prospect of her touch, his breathing became rough. She hesitated for a moment. He waited for an eon. Her soft fingers slowly inched towards him and finally met his skin over his chest. A muscle feathered under her touch. His neck tendons strained. He couldn't move.

He wanted to ask her as to when she came out or when she woke up, but he didn't. It would stop her rhythm and he didn't want it to stop. She was already trembling so much. If he moved an inch, she would flee.

Her fingers slid over his chest, trailing a soft path to his neck. She swallowed thickly as she moved them to his jaws. It was as if she was exploring him, entranced. Her touch was burning his skin. His need was so potent that he was antsy. And her touch was soothing him. Against his better judgment.

Her fingers went higher to his cheeks and then to his tousled hair which she removed from his forehead so lightly. Her lips parted and Lazarus felt like seizing them. But how could he move? If he as much moved a finger, his prey would flee. A shudder passed through his body. He wished that it was Maeve touching him. She never touched him like Emma did. Her touch soothed his mental state. Thorns of panic slowly came out of him and his eyes became droopy. She removed her hand and he hated the absence of her touch, but she resumed it by moving her fingers down his bicep. His breath evened out and his claws retracted as he watched his mate exploring him.

When she was near his nipple, he said in a raucous voice, "Emma?" He had to stop her else he didn't know if he would lose control and take her to bed and sink himself inside her.

She immediately removed her hand, blushing a thousand shades of red. Her scent of violets was now mixed with that honey and spice.

He gulped.

He straightened himself and moved away from the door, moved away from her intoxicating touch and feel. "When did you wake up?" he asked, now feeling better.

She turned to look at him as he walked into her bathroom. His trousers hung low on his waist. "I— I—" His torso was V shaped.

He turned his head over his shoulder to see her and found her looking at his back. Proud that she found him attractive, he flexed his muscles as he walked.

Emma was acutely embarrassed of herself when he caught her watching his back. "I woke up an hour back!" she said, moving her eyes to the curtains on the window. They were horrible. Were they? What color were the curtains?

Lazarus scoffed. Cockily he said, "Women like me every time. It's not that you are the first one to like me. But I wish that it was Maeve in you who lusted after me."

Her trance snapped, replaced with spite. She lashed, "I am sure they liked your façade. Don't tell me that they knew you closely. No woman would have survived your arrogance. Even Maeve has run away. The one who should have lusted after you!" Saying that she flicked her braid back over her back and wondered if she should draw out the curtains for the sunlight to come in.

"Emma!"