POV: Ayla

I wake before any of them, the early morning light filtering softly through the curtains and painting the room in gentle golds and pale blues. For a long moment I lie completely still, studying their faces in the quiet dawn. Ryker sleeps on my left, his massive frame taking up more than half the bed, one heavy arm still draped possessively across my waist. The man who looks terrifying when awake—broad shoulders, sharp jaw, and that constant edge of controlled power—appears devastatingly peaceful in sleep. His brow is smooth, lips slightly parted, the usual tension gone from his features. He looks younger somehow, more vulnerable, and my heart...