Was he? The low rumble in his chest registered belatedly. He didn't stop it.
"Go back to sleep."
"Hard to sleep when you sound like a motorcycle engine."
His lips pressed against the crown of her head unhurried, territorial in a way that had nothing to do with strategy and everything to do with the fact that she smelled like home in a world that had burned every other version of that word to ash.
"Fel." His mouth moved against her hair, "If you don't stop wiggling, I'm putting you in the space."
Her head jerked up, those golden fox ears snapping upright with indignation. "You would not."
"Try me."
"Victor, I swear to every god that survived the apocalypse…"
