32

Alpha King Ozar.

“Yeri…” I say but I wonder if anything I say is really passing through her ears.

Her small hands grip my robe and she nestles her head against my chest. Quickly, her breathing slows and there is evidence that she is slipping into a sleep, proven by the gentle rise and fall of her chest. We are so close to the point where I can feel the warmth of her body against mine. I can smell her powdery perfume; I can essentially cup her weight—we are too close.

Proved that she is falling asleep, I try to extricate himself gently, shifting my weight and attempting to slide out from under her grasp without waking her. But Yeri, even in her half-conscious state, seems determined to hold him down. Her grip tightens each time I move, and a faint murmur escapes her lips, a plea to stay. Strands of her hair fal messily across her and I am too tired for this.

The longer I stay on the bed, the faster my body is beginning to repose, taking it as our resting place.

"Yeri," I whisper, tryin