Snoring. Someone issnoring.
The realization that I'm not alone forces my eyes open despite the protest from every nerve ending in my body. The light hits me like a bitchslap, and I immediately squeeze them shut again, letting out a small groan.
Fuck. What happened last night?
Oh, right. The one time I could have used one of those dissociative episodes that have plagued me since childhood, I remained inconveniently lucid, so I took matters—and an admittedly obscene amount of vodka—into my own hands.
I attempt to piece together my memories, but they're fragmented, dissolving like smoke whenever I try to grasp them. To add insult to injury, I can barely remember anything that cameaftermy attempts to forget, but I remember what drove me to it with crystal clarity.
Azarel.
The motherfucking Prince of Surhiira. Not just some defector from an enemy nation, but actual royalty. The weight of that deception crashes over me again, and I'm momentarily grateful for the hangover—at least it provides a different kind of pain to focus on.
Steeling myself, I open my eyes again, this time more gradually. The room swims into focus—Geo's guest room, with its plush bedding and tacky decor. But it's the collection of bodies scattered around the room that captures my attention.
Knight is here, of course, sitting upright against the wall nearest to the bed. His blue eyes open the moment I stir, telling me he wasn't really sleeping at all. Just watching. Waiting. The iron mask conceals his expression, but there's a softness to his posture that I've come to recognize as concern.
But Knight isn't the only guardian keeping vigil.
Raven is slumped in the armchair next to the bed, head tilted at an angle that will definitely leave him with a crick in his neck. Someone draped a blanket over him, though it's slipped halfway to the floor. His golden hair falls across his face, and there'ssomething endearingly vulnerable about him in sleep. None of the flirtatious swagger or charm he wears like armor when awake.
And beside the chair, sprawled on the floor with his back against the wall and his legs stretched out before him, is Geo. The source of the snoring. He's massive even in repose, one hand still curled loosely around what looks like a gun handle. Ready for action, even in sleep. His face is relaxed, the usual hard lines smoothed out, making him look almost approachable.
My gaze finally drops to the foot of the bed, where Nikolai is curled up like a giant cat. He's coiled in on himself, knees pulled close to his chest, one hand tucked beneath his chin. It's such a contrast to his waking demeanor that I have to blink to make sure I'm not hallucinating.
They all stayed.
They all watched over me.
I'm not used to having anyone look out for me when Azarel isn't around, not since before my mother died. Even with my father, and all the people he paid to care for me, there was always a transaction occurring.
Protection in exchange for obedience.
Care in exchange for submission.
This feels different.
I can't quite put my finger on why, and that uncertainty makes my skin prickle. I've neverlikedalphas. Hated them, actually, but I'm good at reading them. Better at controlling them. When someone holds the key to your fate, and your life, in his hands by simple virtue of his nature, you learn what makes him tick, whatthings to avoid doing that could trigger his rage, what buttons to push to grant his lenience. It's survival. It always has been.
Until Azarel.
Until these alphas who don't want any of the things every other alpha wants. Or at least, they don't want them so badly they're willing to take them by force.
Which means I have no fucking idea how to handle them.
At least with Knight, I'm beginning to understand a little. The rest of them remain a mystery, and if there's one thing being a bird in a gilded cage back in Reinmich taught me, it's that curiosity is dangerous.
Attempting to sit up proves to be a critical error. The moment I lift my head from the pillow, the room spins alarmingly, and my stomach lurches in protest. I make a small, pathetic sound that I would normally be mortified by, but dignity seems a distant concern at the moment.
Knight shifts to stand, letting out a soft, worried growl. The sound draws Raven from his slumber, his eyes blinking open with a clarity that suggests he wasn't deeply asleep either.
"Ah, goddess, you're awake," Raven murmurs, voice thick with relief. He straightens in the chair, wincing slightly as his neck protests the movement.
"How long was I asleep?" I croak, my voice sounding like I've been gargling gravel.
Raven stretches. "Twelve hours, give or take."
"Twelve..." I groan, dropping back onto the pillow. "Gods."
