The penthouse was silent except for the low hum of the city far below, a soft hush that barely filtered up through the double-glazed windows. The bedroom was bathed in shadows, lit only by the faint, silvery glow of the moon. Nicholas slept sitting up, propped against the headboard, one arm curved protectively around Ella's waist. Even in sleep, his body curved instinctively to shelter hers.
Ella dozed fitfully against him, lulled by the warmth of his chest and the steady, even beat of his heart. But somewhere in the deep hours before dawn, that rhythm changed.
Nicholas's breathing began to hitch, his chest rising in uneven bursts. His fingers twitched against her shirt. A faint sound escaped his lips—something low and pained.
"No," he murmured, voice rough with sleep and fear. "No, please."
Ella stirred, but didn't wake. She shifted closer, sighing softly. Her hair brushed against his jaw.
His dream twisted darker.
