Wren
The fur rug was thick and warm beneath my bare feet as Zephyr pulled me down with him. The gold dress whispered against my skin, already feeling too tight, too much, but none of them let me think about hiding. Caius was right behind me, his big hands settling on my hips like they belonged there, steadying me as my knees sank into the soft pile. Lucien stayed on one knee for a second longer, eyes drinking in the sight of us, before he joined the circle we made on the floor.
No rush. That was the first gift. The fire crackled low and golden, throwing shadows that danced across their faces—Zephyr’s sharp storm, Caius’s wicked grin, Lucien’s quiet heat. My heart hammered so loud I was sure they could hear it.
Zephyr’s mouth found mine first, slow and deep, like he was tasting the toast
