He was smoke and heat and a warmth that had been missing from his soul. His hand was still clasped around the back of his neck, and his other dropped to Cyrus’s side. His fingers brushed along his bare torso, calluses from years of training rough against his flesh. Cyrus gripped his tunic, keeping him close, and the rumble that came from Cassius had him echoing with a low groan of his own.
