[The world contracts to Alina shuddering around him. His mind empties of everything but her. Her wanting him, her needing him. Her nails carving his skin, her teeth sinking into him, hold him there with her in the miniature universe of this moment.

Even as the waves of pleasure ebb, the bracing crash of it softening to a sublime stillness, all those other things remain distant. The uncertainties awaiting him in Ravka, like so many wolves howling at the door. The stranger that is to be his bride. The Darkling, resurrected from the dead, from the stuff of his nightmares. They remain just outside tangibility for the moment, as if warded off by the closed knot of their bodies, by the effusion of manna flowing through their limbs.

Alina sags in his grip. He staggers, strength faltering, before he corrects himself. A kiss pressed into her hair, a ragged sigh of laughter.]

I'll have to remember that.

[With a gentleness that was not allowed by the desperation that intertwined with his passion, Nikolai lowers her back to the ground. Even after she's gotten her feet underneath her, his arms stay sturdy around her. Heedless of the sticky mess between them, he holds her up against him.]

How is your mood doing now? [His grin and voice bend mischievously.] And your legs? Will you be able to walk, or shall I carry you around for the rest of the day?