Vlad looked down at his wife while she worked quietly. She sat crosslegged on the floor on top of his expensive rug in front of the roaring fire she had insisted he light for her. He'd demanded a kiss in return for the favour. When she had laughingly refused, he had, like the thief he was, stolen it from her and then proceeded to steal so much more.

It amazed him yet, this intense feeling he felt for his wife. He knew it was love, yet he couldn't bring himself to say it. What ...