The world had gone quiet.
Outside the private quarters, the festival raged on, the laughter, the howling, the rhythmic pounding of drums, and drunken vows of eternal loyalty filled the night air. But within the heavy wooden doors of the chamber, the noise dissolved, leaving behind only a charged silence.
Celeste stood in the center of the room, her pulse echoing in her ears, steady and strong. She wasn’t afraid. Her body buzzed with anticipation, every nerve alive with the weight of the moment.
Across from her stood Hunter, shirt half-unbuttoned, his eyes fixed on her with a raw hunger. He looked at her like she was made of moonlight and flame, not fragile, but sacred. Something to be revered. Claimed.
“You sure?” he asked, voice dark and rough, like velvet dragged across gravel.
Cele
