Late night.
Alina was almost asleep.
Her body was heavy and boneless, curled against Dante's side with her head resting on his shoulder, rising and falling with each slow, steady breath he took. His arm was wrapped around her, warm and solid, his fingers loosely tangled in her hair.
His breathing was slow and deep, rhythmic and peaceful. He was asleep. The Shadow Lord, the most powerful being in the domain, was snoring softly, a low rumbling sound that vibrated through his chest and into her cheek. Alina smiled into the darkness and closed her eyes.
Then something poked her nose.
She opened her eyes to find a tiny finger, soft and chubby and warm, attached to a tiny hand, attached to a tiny arm, attached to a tiny baby. Their daughter was awake, sitting between them with her little legs stretched out and her little feet kicking the sheets in slow, lazy motions. Her crimson eyes were wide open in the dim light, bright and alert and undeniably mischievous.
