The scent of perspiration and smoke permeated the room.

Elaria sat on the furs' edge, her lips damaged by his frantic mouth and her hair tangled from his hold. With one hand laying over the slight rise and fall of her tummy as though to secure her to him, Draven laid next to her, eyes closed but not sleeping.

They were not killed by the fire they had passed through, but the recollection of it lingered in their lungs like ash. Using her fingertips, she traced the jagged lines that were seared ...