Chapter 152: A Fine Performance
Regulus blinked. Tiny beads of moisture still clung to his lashes.
His vision cleared.
The dining room. The long table. The fireplace. The woman standing before him.
Bellatrix's face hovered inches away, eyes burning with something close to fanaticism.
He lowered his gaze to his own hand, to the bone box resting in it.
The runes on its surface had dimmed, settling back to their original dark gold, though the sense of wrongness hadn't faded.
Slowly, he raised his eyes to Bellatrix.
Exhaustion showed in them, and that part was real. Sustaining high-intensity mental manipulation drained enormous reserves of psychic energy.
The excitement, though, was fabricated. So was the longing for power. The awe he let surface without restraint.