(Third Person).
Meredith tilted her head, amusement flickering through her gaze. "Are you going to share every bite like this?"
Draven's lips curved faintly. "Seems fair, doesn't it?"
And so it continued—slow, quiet, and intimate. He would feed her, then take a bite himself, his movements unhurried and deliberate.
Every now and then, his fingers brushed hers or the edge of his knuckles ghosted against her cheek as he steadied the spoon.
When the tray was nearly empty, Meredith's laughter broke softly through the hush. "I can't believe this. The mighty Alpha Draven, feeding someone with his own hands."
Draven's mouth twitched in a shadow of a smile. "Don't make it sound like a weakness."
"It's not," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's… nice."
For a long moment, he just looked at her—the firelight dancing across her silver hair, the faint flush in her cheeks, the quiet strength that even exhaustion couldn't hide.
