Valtira.
I stirred slowly, eyelids heavy against the sharp morning light spilling through unfamiliar curtains. My hand drifted across the sheets beside me, fingers brushing cool, empty linen.
For one confused heartbeat, I expected warmth—Draven’s solid frame curled around me, his breath steady against my neck after everything we’d done under the moonlight.
The memories crashed in then, hot and vivid: his mouth on my skin, the grass beneath my back, the way he’d taken me apart so thoroughly I’d blacked out in his arms.
I couldn’t even recall the walk back to the pack house, only the hazy sense of being carried, safe, cherished.
My eyes snapped fully open. The bed was pristine—no dirt, no leaves, no evidence of the wild night in the woods.
I was clean too, skin soft and scented fai
