Noa’s voice was soft and thin as her words whispered through the cool air. In every way—from her demeanor to her voice—she was the antithesis of Eleanora Aiselle.
“Blanket,” Noa demanded sleepily as Kyle watched over her. The drowsy drawl of her voice and the serenity of slumber still clinging to her expression would have tugged at anyone’s heartstrings. Kyle was slowly coming to terms with the undeniable truth that this fragile human was the one he had spent so much time observing for the past weeks. He couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle as he picked up the cloak he had discarded earlier.
Softly, he nudged her shoulder to shift her into the warm fabric. “Lean forward. I shall help you into my cloak.”
“Why do you—” she began to protest.
“Hush now. You claim to be cold,” he replied impatiently.
