REYNA

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THE SCENT hits me first. Male and minty.

The surface beneath my cheek is warm and solid and… nice. I nuzzle into it, not opening my eyes.

It shifts a little under me, tightening its arms around my waist.

No, that's not right. Beds don’t have arms.

I squint my eyes open.

Morning light spills through the open window, warm against my face. Birds chirp outside. Footsteps echo faintly down the hallway.

And there—heavy, unmistakable—is an arm wrapped around me.

I ...