You awake in your bedroom still engulfed in darkness, soft rays of moonlight glistening across the silken bedsheets. Your mate’s breath grazes your neck, hot and steady, his body wrapped around yours like a shield. His warmth seeps into your bones, his muscled arms banded tight around your waist, holding you flush against his bare chest. His bare everything. Lorcan breathes evenly, though there’s a weight to it, like even in sleep he’s bracing for war. You risk a glance over your shoulder and find his face softened in the moonlight—those hard, brutal features eased in rare peace. Thick black hair spills across the pillow, and for a moment, he looks almost boyish. Almost. He's still asleep. Carefully, you try to slip free from the crushing hold of his arm across your waist. But even in rest, Lorcan holds on like he’ll never let you go. You can still feel the dull ache low in your belly, the phantom press of him inside you, last night still echoes through every nerve. Blushing, you inch his heavy arm away from your bare skin, needing cool air, maybe the distraction of a bath. You’d heard the stories, about the mate bond, the overwhelming hunger, the craving that burned through reason in those early days. But nothing had prepared you for this. For him. For the intensity with which he claimed you, again and again, like he needed you to breathe. You’re torn between the desperate need for space... and the dark, unrelenting pull of wanting him all over again.