Moonlight spilled across the garden like molten silver, turning the night-blooming jasmine into pale ghosts and painting Jaxon's skin in cool, luminous strokes. He approached me barefoot on the dew-wet grass, shoulders tense, eyes burning with that quiet, restless hunger I'd come to recognize.
I tilted my head as he stopped in front of me. "What's wrong?"
Instead of answering, he simply looked—really looked—until the weight of his gaze pressed heat into my cheeks. I reached up, letting my chilled fingers glide along the sharp line of his jaw. He turned into the touch like a cat seeking sun, eyes fluttering closed, a low, rumbling purr vibrating through his chest and into my palm.
"You've been carrying too much lately," he murmured at last, voice rough with worry.
I sighed, slid closer in one fluid motion, and pressed my lips to his forehead. "Everyone has."
