Midnight.
Draven's quarters were dark except for candlelight. Privacy wards active. Silencing spells layered thick enough to stop a dragon's roar.
Elise slipped through the hidden door. Locked it behind her. Turned to face him.
She was still in her mourning dress from earlier. Black silk that clung to her curves. But her expression was different now. Not terrified. Not desperate.
Hungry.
"I need this," she said quietly. "After everything today. Marcus's threats. The funeral. Pretending to mourn a man I barely tolerated." She crossed to him. "I need you to make me forget. Even for a few hours."
Draven pulled her close. "What do you need?"
"You. All of you." Her hands went to his shirt. "And I need to feed you. Like I'm supposed to. Like a mother should."
[She's been producing for weeks. Breasts are probably swollen and aching.]
Draven grabbed the back of her dress. Ripped. The fabric tore cleanly, pooled at her feet.
