The warm, quiet stillness of Elena's study felt entirely separate from the cold, violent world waiting for Liam outside.
The heavy mahogany doors remained shut, keeping the estate's staff at bay while the muted afternoon light filtered through the high, arched windows.
On the broad leather sofa along the wall, the air still carried the heavy, lingering scent of dark cherry, amber, and skin—the fading aftermath of their chaotic, intense encounter.
Liam sat back against the dark leather cushions, his chest bare, a soft wool throw draped low across his waist.
His posture was slouched, his shoulders still aching from the brutal session with Wraith, his knuckles bruised and raw.
Beside him, Elena lay resting against his side.
Her silk robe was loosely tied around her waist, her , glossy hair spilled across Liam's bare chest, rising and falling smoothly with the steady rhythm of his breathing.
