The following morning, Gabriel woke slowly, drifting up from the depths of a deep, dreamless sleep. The first thing he registered was warmth—the cozy heat of the furs piled around him, the gentle crackle of the fireplace, and the feeling of a soft, familiar weight pressing down on his waist.
He blinked his eyes open.
Lilith was sitting on top of him, straddling his waist, her white hair cascading over her shoulders like a waterfall of moonlight. She wore nothing but a thin, silken robe that had slipped off one shoulder, revealing the smooth curve of her gray skin. Her crimson eyes were fixed on his face, her expression soft, adoring, almost reverent.
She was staring at him cutely. As if she could not get enough of this—of waking up to his face, of watching the slow transition from sleep to consciousness, of being the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," she whispered, her voice carrying a hint of amusement.
