Cillian POV
The early morning light broke over the tree line of southern Indiana, casting long, pale shadows across the bedroom ceiling. For the first time in my life, I woke up without the familiar, suffocating knot of restlessness in my gut.
Lilly was sprawled half over my chest, her dark, wavy hair cascading across my skin like raw silk. Her left hand rested flat against my ribs, and the diamond catching the faint gray dawn glinted right above her fresh mating mark. On the delicate curve where her neck met her shoulder, the raised, dark red puncture wounds from my canines were cleanly sealed. Mirrored exactly by the dull, possessive thrum of her bite against my own collarbone.
For six long years, I had craved this exact sight. Yet, even in the warmth of the sheets, a cold, insidious
