Night had fallen over the palace like a heavy cloak, but Strax and Scarlet's room seemed to radiate its own warmth—intense, alive, pulsating.
Scarlet was in Strax's arms, almost glued to him, her legs intertwined with his as if trying to prevent any other being in the world from touching him. She was breathless, her face flushed, her fingers tangled in his hair as she pulled him closer, seeking his mouth as if each kiss were necessary for life.
Strax held her by the waist, with the same natural firmness of someone who already knew she would try to climb him like a passionate predator. The kisses were deep, long, full of that familiar urgency—not explicit, but charged, vibrating in the air.
In the midst of it all, he managed to catch his breath enough to speak:
"Scarlet… about what happened earlier with Mercedes…"
Scarlet growled softly—a jealous, automatic sound—and pressed her body even closer to his, as if the mere mention of another woman was a personal threat.
