Chapter 39

　　Present Time

　　Sylvin’s undressing of Yelena seemed to happen in a dream, her head was so groggy with exhaustion. In her half-sleep he was magnificently beautiful, the fading sun of the day sparkling off the silver stubble that pushed through the skin of his jaw, the silken skein of tumbled silver hair sliding through her fingers as it fell over the perfect lines of his face.

　　“You are beautiful,” she told him.

　　“Hmm,” his full lips curved slightly in invitation, and she took him up on it, lifting her mouth to his to taste them. He braced over her on the mattress in order to lean into the kiss, and she moaned, her body arching to his.

　　He murmured his instructions in a soothing hush – Sit up Yelena, lift your arms Yelena, drink this, Yelena.

　　“I feel as if I have drunk too much wine,” she confessed sagging against his shoulder. “What is this?”

　　“A restorative potion,” he replied, holding the fragile little bottle to her lips. “Drink it, Yelena.”