The warm fur under his feet and the artificial heating element glowing in the corner couldn't remove the chill of Zafira and Asuka's absence... and couldn't compare to the sublime chill of Sylvie's body.
Leonhardt exhaled slowly as he sat up on his massive four-poster bed, the silk canopy draping low above his head like a suspended mist. Monster-hide sheets slid off his chest, revealing faint scorch marks across his abdomen—Zafira's idea of affection could be a little intense.
He rose, barefoot, stepping onto the dense, almost cloudlike rug woven from Winterwolf fur. The room's lighting dimmed as he passed, enchanted sconces responding to his proximity. It was quiet, for once.
He moved to the side chamber, where his private Roman-style bath lay recessed into the marble floor—steam rising in slow, twisting trails above the heated surface. The magic crystals Zafira installed had kept the water clean and hot through the night, as always.
