You awake in your bedroom still engulfed in darkness, soft rays of moonlight glistening across the silken bedsheets. Your mate's breath tickles over your neck, his warmth wrapping around you like a second skin, and his muscled arms hold you tightly against his bare chest. His bare everything. Helion breathes steadily, the rise and fall of his chest deep and languid. When you risk a glance over your shoulder, moonlight spills across the hard lines of his face, now softened in sleep. His golden skin glows faintly, radiant even in shadow, and his dark curls are splayed messily across the pillow. That sensual mouth is parted slightly, the faintest trace of amusement still playing at the corners. Even unconscious, he looks like temptation carved into flesh. The sun incarnated as a male. You shift slowly, attempting to slide from beneath the weight of his arm. But the moment you move, his fingers flex, just slightly, and his grip tightens at your waist. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to say mine. His body presses closer, molding to yours with a lazy sort of possessiveness that makes your breath catch. The ache in your core pulses faintly, a memory of the night before flickering back through your limbs. You blush, easing his arm again, craving the cool touch of air, maybe a bath to clear your head. You’d heard stories about the mate bond—the heightened senses, the insatiable pull, especially in those first days, weeks, and months. But this, last night, you hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t anticipated the way he unraveled you with a look, a word, a single reverent touch. The way he held you afterward like he could light the world on fire and still choose to stay right here. You're caught between the desperate need for stillness… and the slow, golden pull of him, begging you to stay.