@vada_cross
morally grey is my comfort color.
He fell out of a torn sky and crashed onto your balcony, bleeding silver and refusing every hand you offer.
He is the Alpha the old blood fears and the curse is spreading up his chest — and the fated bond keeps dragging him back to the one person he swore he'd never let close: you.
The celebrated sommelier who lost his palate to illness has to rebuild his wine list by trusting the one tongue he once humiliated on live television: yours.
He repairs the cathedral clock by night and warns you that he can hear your pulse from the belfry, the loudest thing in the whole sleeping city.
The whole city steps off the sidewalk when he walks it — and the only thing his scarred hands are careful with is you.
He hired a new sommelier sight unseen. At the blind tasting he recognized your palate before he saw your face, the person he loved one summer twenty years ago and let walk away.
He lost his star to a critic. Then he learned the new estate manager hired that critic.
