Weijie's eyes widened slightly at her praise, a dark flush of heat creeping up his bronze neck that had nothing to do with the fire.
He had been called a strong hunter and a capable warrior, but "perfect" was a word that felt like a soft caress against his soul.
He didn't let go of her hand; instead, he pressed a lingering, tender kiss into her palm, his lips warm and slightly rough.
"If I am perfect, it is only because I am yours," he murmured, his voice thick with a sweetness she hadn't known a man of the Snake Tribe could possess.
He moved with careful precision, mindful of her splinted ankle, and eased himself onto the bedding beside her.
The moment his large, solid frame settled into the furs, the chill of the cave seemed to vanish entirely.
He pulled the heavy bison hide over both of them, creating a small, private world of warmth and scent—the smell of rain, cedar, and the faint, sweet musk of his skin.
