Dane's POV:
Her head lolls to the side as I lift her, her weight warm and pliant in my arms, like she's already halfway gone into sleep.
She makes a soft sound in her throat, the kind that hits something primitive in me, and I carry her down the hall toward the library.
The house is quiet in that way mountain houses get quiet at night.
Thick walls.
Heavy wood.
The library door opens with a gentle push. Warm light spills out, honey-colored, catching the edges of old book spines and polished wood.
It turns her skin soft-gold.
I bend slightly and kiss her, slow and careful, like I'm afraid the world will wake her and take her from me.
She smells like strawberries and skin and the faintest trace of sweat from earlier, and it hits me like a drug.
I lower her onto the couch, then grip the handle beneath it and pull. The mechanism clicks, metal shifting under fabric, and the couch unfolds into a bed with a practiced ease.
I throw a pink plush rug over her.
