The first light of dawn crept through the cracks in the heavy curtains, casting muted gold across the room that reeked of violence, sweat, and something far more intimate.
Zander sat at the edge of the bed, his bare back hunched, the muscles in his shoulders tense as stone. His hand ran over his lips; the bite still stung, her doing, a doing she hadn’t begged forgiveness for.
Behind him, Gabrielle stirred. Her soft sigh broke the silence, but she didn’t speak. Not yet. The air between them was thick, heavy with what neither could name.
He glanced over his shoulder. The sight made his throat tighten.
She lay amidst the rumpled sheets, the remnants of a war neither of them had won. A bruise bloomed on her cheek where his hand had struck, matched by the dark crescents his back bore from h
