As the first whisper of dawn crept into the room, Esme's eyelids fluttered open, heavy with the remnants of a dreamless sleep.
Her gaze drifted to the hearth, where the embers had long since died, leaving only a faint smudge of smoke to linger in the air.
But it was the gentle pressure around her that truly caught her attention. She tried to stir, to shift away from the warmth that had enveloped her, but a firm arm held her in place, a subtle reminder that she wasn't alone.
Esme's pulse quickened as she felt the rhythmic puffs of air against the skin of her neck. She turned her body slowly, her heart pounding, and she found herself face to face with the sleeping form of Donovan.
