Dawn slipped quietly into Eliana's bedroom, thin fingers of gold pushing through the heavy curtains and spilling over the tangled sheets. In the armchair by the window, Rafael stirred. He'd spent the night there—half-guard, half-penitent—and his body definitely had complaints. His long legs were cramped, his back stiff, and his neck protested as he straightened. Still, he didn't regret a second of it.
His steel eyes drifted instinctively to the bed.
Eliana lay curled on her side, peaceful in a way that made his chest ache. Her long curls fanned across the pillow like spilled ink, framing her face in soft chaos. The morning light kissed her warm brown skin, and her lips—soft, pink, slightly parted—rose and fell with slow, even breaths. She looked… safe. And that did something dangerous to him.
Protectiveness curled tight in his chest, braided with regret and that stubborn, inconvenient thing he'd once spent many nights pretending didn't own him.
Love.
