Ella and Sinclair wake up the next morning before their children do, curled in each other’s arms as they always are.
“Stop,” Sinclair commands, tightening his arms when Ella starts to move, to roll away towards the edge of the bed. “Don’t. Stay.”
“We have to get them up, Dominic!” Ella protests, laughing, but her body betrays her, going soft and pliable again in her mate’s arms. “They have to go to school. And then off to war. And we have meetings.”
“They’re adults, they can get themselves ready to go off to war,” Sinclair murmurs, his eyes determinedly shut as he pulls Ella closer and rests his head against her chest, sighing deeply at the comfort he feels when she’s in his arms, when he can smell her scent.
“You hold your tongue,” Ella sighs, running her fingers through his thick da
