The look on Keila's face was a testament to her depravity. Something between smug satisfaction and a hateful sneer.
Even at this moment, she was more fixated on the fact that she had outsmarted them, than the reality that she had handed off her own newly born child to a depraved dark sorcerer.
Neveah could hardly comprehend it. A chill ran down her spine. Memories of the terrors she faced raised from birth by another depraved man, far away on the other side of the world.
How she prayed every day, that the Creator would take her life. Because she didn't have it in her to end her pathetic existence herself.
How her life and morals had been sullied, conformed to suit whatever Lothaire decided would fit the day.
Good when he needed good. Pure when he needed pure. A seductress when he willed it. A cold-blooded killer when it suited him.
"Did you even hold him?" She whispered.
Keila frowned. "What?"
