The first thing Aestrea felt when he opened his eyes was the warmth.
It wasn't the gentle warmth of the morning sun, but a heavy, encompassing heat, like being buried under two living, breathing blankets.
He slowly cracked his eyes open, the dim light of the new day filtering through the heavy curtains of the chamber.
He was in the middle, exactly as he had been at the peak of the night's passion.
On his right, Zeva was curled against him, her wild, untamed nature from the night before replaced by the peaceful stillness of sleep.
Her black-greenish hair was similar to a messy halo around her head, strands strewn across his chest and arm.
Her face, usually sharp and fierce, was soft in sleep, her lips slightly parted.
One of her legs was thrown over his, possessive even in her dreams, and her hand rested on his stomach, right over his heart.
The faint scar on her nose seemed less like a mark of battle and more like a beauty mark in the soft morning light.
