SERAPHINA’S POV
Astrid’s message arrived at 7:12 a.m.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand, the faint sound swallowed by the steady rhythm of Kieran’s breathing beside me.
I lay still, half tangled in cool sheets and Kieran’s warmth, watching pale gold sunlight seep through the curtains.
The room smelled like us. Like heat and sweat and something deeper that had nothing to do with pheromones.
Kieran’s arm was draped heavily across my waist, his palm resting possessively against my hip as though even in sleep he feared losing me.
The marks he’d left along my throat and collarbone throbbed faintly—tender reminders of the one line we had not crossed.
My body ached in that delicious, thoroughly claimed way that proved last night was no hallucination.
The phone buzzed again.
Kieran stirred slightly, his fingers tightening unconsciously against my skin.
I exhaled carefully and reached for the device, angling my body so the screen’s glow wouldn’t fall across his face.
Astrid Volker.
