Veyra surged awake, a sharp breath catching like a hook in her throat.For a heartbeat, she was nameless and lost. Then the scent of warm skin, sun-dried linen, and the faint, woodsy trace of Malric flooded her senses, anchoring her to the reality of the room. Her eyes snapped open.She was in his bed entwined. Her body was pressed flush against his back, her arm draped over his waist, her face tucked so close to his shoulder that she could feel the steady, rhythmic engine of his breathing. Pale lines of dawn light filtered through the heavy curtains, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the still air. She froze, paralyzed by the sheer weight of the intimacy.Then, the memories surged back, unbidden and vivid.The silver moon. The heat of his hands. The rough, desperate pressure of his mouth.The mark.Her stomach recoiled. Veyra jerked away, scrambling to sit up. Her hand tangled in the heavy furs, her knee skidded across the mattress, an
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