Daelan POV
The sun creeps over the horizon, painting the sky with shades of pale rose and molten gold, casting long rays through the open balcony doors of our room. It warms the marble, sets fire to the silk curtains as they ripple in the breeze, and kisses the skin of the woman asleep on my chest.
My goddess.
Her breath is steady, shallow, soft against my collarbone. She's completely out cold, mouth parted just slightly—drooling. Not that I'll ever bring it up.
She'd freeze my balls off.
The drool isn't even the funniest part. It hardens into ice before it hits my skin—tiny icicles forming and melting. Twice now I've had to pluck them off, tossing them over the side of the bed like discarded candy wrappers. I don't mind. It's strangely domestic. Intimate.
Her hair is a tangled mess, a halo of dark silk draped across my chest and shoulders, and bite marks trail down her neck and shoulder like proof of possession.
Mine.
