SERAPHINA’S POV
Maybe it was the heat.
Maybe it was the memory of the last time we'd stood in this kitchen, only to have the moment stolen away before either of us had been ready to let it go.
Or maybe it was simply Kieran.
Because somehow, after everything we'd survived together—after war and loss and impossible odds, after discovering we were mates, rejecting the bond, and then choosing one another every single day—it still felt as though every kiss was the first one we'd ever shared.
Mind-numbing. Intoxicating. Explosive.
It reminded me how thoroughly we'd learned one another since we got together, yet somehow nothing had become routine.
His mouth claimed mine with a hunger that stole every coherent thought from my head, and I met him with equal desperation, my fingers tangling in his hair as if I could anchor myself against the tide of instinct threatening to sweep me away.
