The first slant of dawn filtered through the thin shutters of Draven’s chamber, pale gold spilling across the tangled sheets. For the first time since her capture, since the endless battles of teeth and shadow, Elaria had slept deeply — cocooned against Draven’s warmth, his arm heavy around her waist, their breathing unconsciously synchronized.
Yet peace, however fragile, never lingered in Kaelith’s stronghold.
Elaria stirred first, blinking against the light, her gaze brushing over the harsh planes of Draven’s face as he slept beside her. In repose he looked younger, stripped of the endless burden of command. But the faint crease between his brows told her even in sleep he wrestled ghosts.
Her heart twisted. She remembered every venomous oath she had spoken against him, every promise s
