I was only partially awake when I heard the bedroom door open. The cold draft in the hallway whooshed into the bedroom, blowing Asher’s scent until it swirled around the room.

My nose twitched, and even in my sleep I knew when he was near. Fingers brushed my cheek. Just two, trailing slowly to my jawline. The sparks, which could be overwhelming at times, turned subtle and soothing.

As his hand drifted lower, grazing my neck and shoulder, he gradually came to a stop. I could no longer feel his fingers gliding over my skin, but instead knew where they hovered.

For months I pretended the crimson mark on my skin was non-existent, a nightmare that I had long ago woken up from. Tristan was trying, working to make up for his mistakes and to preserve his people, but I’d always have the physical reminder of what side he had once been on.

Even without his mark, as his Queen, I’d always have that faint connection to him.

“Is Zeke alive