Seraphina
Dimitri's chambers were exactly as I remembered, masculine, sparse and dominated by the massive four-poster bed that seemed to take up half the room, but I barely registered the familiar surroundings as he led me inside, his hand warm and possessive around mine.
"You should rest," He said, though his eyes betrayed him, roaming over my body with barely restrained hunger. "The healers said you're recovered, but—"
"But nothing," I squeezed his hand. "I feel incredible, Dimitri. Better than I've ever felt."
It was true. The bond thrummed between us, alive and electric, and I could feel his desire through it, making my own body respond in kind.
He had spent eighteen hours thinking he might lose me. I could feel the desperate need in him to touch me, claim me and reassure himself
