Neville drifted in and out of consciousness.
The silk sheets beneath him were impossibly soft, nothing like the standard-issue bedding in his house. For a blissful moment, he felt content to simply exist and enjoy this bed in comfort.
Then his eyes went wide open.
The first thing he saw was the unfamiliar ceiling.
It wasn't like the ceiling of his house.
Then the muscular arm draped possessively around his waist.
Neville's breath was stuck in his throat as he slowly turned his head to look at the person beside him.
It's Grayson.
He was still asleep with an unusually peaceful expression. His lashes cast faint shadows on his cheekbones, and his lips parted just slightly. His hair was tousled against the pillow, dark strands brushing his brow.
But what caught Neville's attention were the scales on Grayson's exposed skin.
