The fire had died down to just glowing orange embers. Long, flickering shadows were cast across the vaulted ceiling of my hall. For the first time in centuries, the silence of the mountain felt different. It wasn’t the heavy, stagnant silence of a tomb. It was the soft, breathing silence of a sanctuary.
Sloane lay tangled in the fox furs, her pale skin glowing like a pearl in the dim light. She was deep in the kind of sleep that only comes after a total shattering of the soul.
I sat on the edge of the stone hearth, my true form still unfurled. I watched the steady rise and fall of her chest, my amber eyes tracking the faint purple bruises I’d left on her hips. Marks of a claim I hadn’t realized I was making until I’d already sunk my teeth into her scent.
My tongue flicked over my low
