My body sways and scents blur.
Then I sink back into the dark.
I surface slowly.
Not all at once, just a thin crack in the dark at first, then a widening bloom of awareness. The fog in my head is still heavy, but something nudges me upward. A shift in temperature. The impression of stillness. The faint weight of a blanket tucked under my chin.
I’m lying in a bed. My lashes twitch, sticky from sleep, and I force one eye open. I’m in a bedroom.
A real one.
The air smells…different. Clean. Familiar in a way I can’t place. Wood polish, cotton, something earthy and warm that clings to the sheets. The mattress is firm beneath me, the pillow cool against my cheek.
How long have I been here?
My lashes lift a fraction more.
I can’t see much, only a window on the far side of the room. Faint gray light spills through it, the kind that comes right before dawn. Soft. Cold. Everything else is wrapped in shadows.
Slowly, I turn my head, letting my eyes sweep the dark room. Shapes blur into each other. A dresser. Pictures onthe wall. A door cracked just enough to hint at a dark hallway beyond. And then I see a shape right beside me.
A big one.
My breath catches hard as my vision sharpens enough to make sense of what I’m seeing.
An alpha.
Sound asleep right beside me. He’s not touching me, but he’s so close I could reach out and brush his arm if I wanted to. He’s big with broad shoulders and heavy muscle. A soft smattering of dark hair covers his chest, trailing down over large, defined pecs. The kind of size you can’t mistake even in the dim gray light. And he’s warm, radiating so much heat in slow, steady breaths.
I squint, my sluggish mind scrambling to identify him. For one fragile second, I convince myself he’s one of the men from the tent. It takes me a second to remember their names.Warren and Gray.
But then my eyes adjust.
And it’s not them.
Not Warren’s sharp, clean lines.
Not Gray’s towering bulk or dark curls.
This alpha is older.
A stranger.
Swift pain rips through my abs and my back aches as I sit up too fast. A small sound slips out of me before I can swallow it, and I quickly slap a hand over my mouth. I stare at the stranger with wide, panicked eyes, praying he didn’t hear me.
But he stays perfectly still. Not moving, chest rising in slow, measured breaths.
Swallowing hard, I sit a little taller, scanning him head to foot.
He’s lying on top of a thick blanket, not under it. Oneleg is propped up with a pillow, the knee wrapped in thick bandages. His skin looks pale in the faint dawn light, almost gray around the edges. Sweat beads along his forehead, and his breathing is shallow, uneven.
He looks sick.
Hesmellssick. Sour and acidic at the same time.
My gaze drags upward.
His hair is dark with streaks of salt-and-pepper threaded through it. A rough beard shadows his jaw, uneven, like he hasn’t shaved in days. Lines fan around his eyes and crease lightly at his mouth.
