Tw: this book will deal with triggering topics. If you are easily triggered this is not the story for you, thank you.
(Book three in the Starlight series)
─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Danika Archeron was a damn god.
No longer would she be broken, no...
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"Some hearts understand each other even in silence."
─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
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Rhysand
THE SUN WAS A SOFT caress on Rhysand's skin as his calloused hands drew circles upon Danika's back. His eyes never once roamed from the woman in front of him, like a magnetic pull kept drawing his gaze back to her snow-white hair and sharp features. He felt like memorizing the entirety of her, if only to ignite his memory that had just barely faded in the time she had been gone.
His hand tenderly brushed a strand of silken hair from her cheek, the lines of her face so soft as she slept. When she woke, Rhys knew she would be all wit and smug smiles as she taunted him. And truly, he loved it.
But it was these moments he cherished. When the world seemed calm, and his heart was a steady thump in his chest. When the two would talk in quiet, soft voices or when his mate would fall asleep so peacefully in his arms.
Throughout the entirety of her absence, it had been as though a piece of him had been ripped from his chest. His heart growing into a decaying, ashen thing without her there to warm it. He found his chest aching and his mind wandering away and away to where she was across what felt like the world.
It had felt as though she had taken a part of him with her when she had left.
Rhysand didn't fancy feeling that way ever again. He wanted her by his side as long as she was willing to be there. He hoped it was forever.
It was nearly sunset, and the sky was growing into a spiral of warm, fire-like colors. Reds and oranges and pink filtered through the window in a sort of gilded glow, and as Rhysand looked up toward the glass pane, glowing, auburn clouds greeted him as the sun setted happily into the horizon.
He didn't want to wake his wife. But he also knew she would probably kick his arse if he let her sleep any longer.
And so, begrudgingly, Rhysand began to place featherlight kisses up her arm, all the way to her shoulder until he was met with the point of her ear. The High Lord began whispering sweet nothings to her, his voice soft and teasing.
