LUCIAN'S P.O.V.
It had been nearly five months since Teresa disappeared, and any semblance of patience I once had had disappeared long ago, replaced by a raw, consuming need to find her. Her absence was a wound that refused to heal, an ache I couldn't ignore. Every trace of her scent, every whisper of our mate bond, was slipping away like sand through my fingers, taunting me with its elusiveness. I'd made plans—several, in fact—and I swore I'd search every inch of this world, tear apart every corner of every territory, to bring her back. Failure wasn't an option. I needed her like I needed my next breath.
