By nightfall, he would return to the Feline Spire, his body humming with newly absorbed essence and the adrenaline of a dozen near-death encounters, his clothes stained with the viscera of a dozen different horrors.
And every night without fail, Kira was there waiting for him.
She would have warm essence-meat prepared and a basin of hot water waiting. The nights were an absolute contrast to the days. If the daytime was about blood and iron, the nighttime was about fire and flesh. They would spend hours in the dark, letting out the steam and the bottled-up bloodthirstiness of the day, spending hours indulging in a fierce, passionate release.
Their intimacy had become a sanctuary, a primal indulgence that acted as a release valve for the high-pressure life they were leading. In the heat of their union, the impending war didn't exist… only the skin, the breath, and the absolute trust they had forged.
