A low vibration hums through my chest, rough and fractured, more instinct than sound. A purr.
What the hell?
I don’t purr. Not like this. The only time it slips out of me is when Beck is upset enough to need it. When my instincts take over, soothing my beta without consciously doing it.
Confusion barely has time to register before I shift a fraction, trying to orient myself, and pain detonates.
My knee erupts in a vicious, throbbing heat that whites out my thoughts completely. Sharp and brutal, like something is trying to tear me apart from the inside. It makes the sound in my chest cut off.
I try to breathe through it, to collect myself, but it gets choked off by a wave of vertigo.
When air finally makes it back into my lungs, an unknown scent slams into me. It’s a tidal wave of honey and earthy tea that cuts through the fever and the pain, hitting my bloodstream like pure fire.
My heart kicks in my chest.
My vision blurs, then clears, and the world snaps into focus all at once.
And the first thing I see is Beck.
He’s right here, hovering at the edge of the bed like he’s afraid to breathe. His big blue-gray eyes blown wide, bright with something that looks like a confused mix of joy and terror. His mouth is pulled tight; lips pink like he’s been gnawing them raw.
“Cass,” he whispers, like my name might spook me if he says it too loud.
Behind him, more shapes come into focus.
Warren stands at the foot of the bed, bare-chested, joggers slung low on his hips. His hair is mussed, eyes sharp and sleepless, posture locked tight.
Grason is at his side. He looks like he fell asleep in yesterday’s clothes. His shirt is creased, sleeves rumpled, boots unlaced. His hands are curled at his sides, knuckles pale. He looks so amped.
“What’s wrong?” I ask Gray, my voice rough from misuse.
“Cass,” Warren says. “How about you let her?—”
I shift and pain claws back in, making me grunt.
Fuck!
The room tilts as my knee screams with a bright, vicious agony. Heat floods the joint, relentless, overwhelming. I grit my teeth, breath going shallow as my arms tighten reflexively around something soft, anger spiking hard.
I fucking hate my body for betraying me like this.
“Easy, Mr. Vexler,” someone says.
I force my eyes open and snap a glare to the side.
Dr. Pace.
Of course, he’s here.
The older beta edges closer to the bed, slow and deliberate, like he’s measuring every step. A syringe glints in his hand. “There’s no need to get upset,” he says softly. “It’s just a simple blood test. I’m only trying to help.”
My jaw tightens, but I don’t respond.
“Please,” the doctor’s voice drops, pleading. “Let her go.”
Her?
But before I can figure out who he’s talking about, something moves against my chest.
