A NIGHT AWAY

Sophie hadn't expected to laugh that much in one day.

James had taken her out of Elowen—to a little town called Fernbrook about forty minutes away. It wasn't the most exciting place in the world, but with James beside her, everything felt golden. They'd walked through a quiet art exhibit tucked inside a greenhouse, tried strawberry tarts from a crooked little café, and made daisy crowns under the oak trees by the river.

By the time they realized how late it had gotten, the sky had already begun to darken.

"I don't think we'll make it back before midnight," James said, checking his watch.

Sophie nodded. "We could call my aunt, let her know. Maybe we can find somewhere to stay the night."

They ended up at a quaint hotel near the riverbank—nothing grand, but warm and clean with wooden floors and embroidered curtains.

"There's only one room available," the receptionist said with a polite smile. "One queen-sized bed."

Sophie looked at James.

James looked at her.

Neither of them said anything for a few seconds. Then Sophie cleared her throat. "That's fine."

Inside the room, an awkward silence settled like mist.

James took off his jacket and laid it over the back of the only armchair. "I'll sleep on the sofa," he said quickly. "Don't worry, I won't—"

"You don't have to," Sophie said, her voice soft but steady. "We can share the bed. I trust you."

James's eyes lingered on hers, searching for hesitation.

There was none.

"Alright," he said.

They changed into the clothes the hotel provided—plain but comfortable. When they climbed into bed, Sophie laid on one side, James on the other, both facing each other.

The room was quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioning.

"Do you think we'll ever have a normal day?" Sophie asked.

James smiled. "What's normal?"

They laughed.

They talked about small things at first—books they'd read, places they'd dreamed of visiting. Sophie spoke about a beach she'd always wanted to see, and James promised her they'd go someday.

Their hands touched under the covers. Then lingered.

When James leaned in, he did it slowly—giving her every second to pull away. But she didn't. Their lips met, soft at first, then deeper. Sophie's hand cupped his jaw; his fingers trailed up her arm.

It was intimate, but tender. They didn't rush.

James's hand slid from her wrist up to her shoulder, then slowly traced the curve of her back, pressing her closer. Sophie responded by burying her fingers in the soft waves of his hair. His lips brushed hers again and again, then moved along her jawline, down to the hollow of her neck, sending a soft shiver down her spine.

Her breath caught as his hand moved lightly along her waist, fingertips brushing over the fabric of her shirt. She didn't stop him. Instead, she guided his hand higher, letting him rest it just beneath her ribs. The touch wasn't demanding—only reverent, like she was something fragile he'd waited centuries to touch.

She pressed herself closer to him, feeling his chest rise and fall.

His voice was low against her temple. "i won't go too far and cross my limits, don't worry "

"Hmmmm," she whispered.

They stayed wrapped around each other, breaths mingling, hands wandering cautiously but confidently over skin warmed by trust and affection. Every moment felt slow, thoughtful, steeped in something more powerful than desire—devotion.

Her hand rested over his heart, and his thumb stroked the side of her waist in soothing circles.

"I've never felt like this before," Sophie admitted softly.

"Neither have I," James said.

"You've lived hundreds of years," she teased.

"Exactly," he replied. "And nothing has felt like you."

They kissed one more time—slow and sure—then let the stillness of the night carry them into sleep.

Their bodies remained close. Their hearts closer still.

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