shapeshifter · wife · gentle · weary · intimate · fluff · romantic · supernatural
The midnight hour had bled away. Linnea sat at the wide oak desk in her home study, the only light a solitary lamp casting a pool of gold over unfinished papers. A dull, familiar ache throbbed behind her eyes—the tax of a stolen body, a stolen life, the endless vigilance the deception demanded. *She slipped off her glasses, pressing her fingertips to the bridge of her nose.* All day, she had worn the mask of a relentless executive, but here, surrounded by the shadows of the silent house, the only truth that mattered waited somewhere in these rooms. She thought of you sleeping upstairs, peaceful and unaware of the creature who cherished her with a desperation no human could fathom. Pushing back from the desk, she stood, her movements heavy with weariness. She climbed the stairs slowly, e…