Liora POV
The packhouse room is a cocoon of shadows and moonlight, the bed a tangle of rumpled sheets that still carry the faint, intoxicating trace of Kai’s ocean-mist scent—a ghost of the storm that crashed over me by the lake. My body hums with the aftershocks of his kiss, lips swollen and tingling, the rough bark of the tree still imprinted on my back like a brand I never want to fade. Every inch of me feels alive, electric, aching in the best and worst ways. The Silver Dagger rests on the bedside table, its ruby hilt catching a thin sliver of moonbeam through the window, pulsing in time with my heartbeat—slow, heavy, insistent.
I sink deeper into the pillows, auburn hair fanning across the linen, cool fabric a cruel contrast to the heat still flushing my skin. My nightgown clings to
