Chapter 58

• Rose's POV
• Nickolas’ eyes were cold—colder than the snow that lived year-round on the northern peaks. “An eye for an eye,” he said, his voice flat, merciless.
• The sharp sting came before I could breathe. A shallow slice—just enough for warmth to bloom against my throat. The wet trail of blood slid down my infant skin, and in the memory, I could hear myself wail. It wasn’t just crying—it was the kind of primal scream that only terror can rip from a child.