The storm had softened into a lazy drizzle by morning.
The light that filtered through the cellar's tiny window was pale gold fragile, hesitant like it was afraid to disturb them.
Isabella stirred first. For a moment, she didn't remember where she was.
The world was still, the scent of smoke and cedar lingering in the air.
Then she felt the weight of Damian's arm draped around her waist, his breath slow and warm against the back of her neck.
Her pulse fluttered. The chaos of last night felt like a distant dream.
She turned carefully, watching him sleep. In rest, the sharp lines of his face softened.
The usual tension of the battle-hardened mask he wore like armor was gone. He looked almost peaceful, younger,and human.
Her fingers moved before she could stop them, tracing the faint scar that ran along his jaw. He flinched slightly but didn't wake.
She smiled to herself. You're always fighting, even in your sleep.
