Seraphina's Point Of View
The pressure in the room was suffocating, a physical weight that made every intake of breath feel like I was inhaling static.
Azriel was a spent force, watching from the shadows of the pillows, his chest still heaving. Lucian was a silent, silver-eyed witness at my side, his fingers tracing lazy, possessive lines on my ankle.
But Draven? Draven was the gravity that held the room together.
Draven didn't just occupy space; he dominated it. Standing there, stripping with a slow, agonizing deliberation, he looked less like a man and more like a predator preparing for a kill. His chest was a landscape of hard muscle and old scars that caught the fractured light of the chandelier, and his eyes... they were bottomless.
