ROWAN
The itching. Oh, God. It’s horrendous. Like my entire body’s been coated in poison ivy, dipped in glitter, and rolled in fire ants. Worse, I can’t move. Not my arms. Not my legs. Not even my stupid twitchy toes.
If I could, I’d scratch the skin right off, peel myself like an orange, just to make it stop. Yet, none of that compares to the sounds.
A howl shreds through my mind, haunting and desperate. It reverberates deep inside me, not through my ears, but in my bones before repeating again. And it’s not just echoes. It’s a constant cry, almost like asummons. A sorrowful plea from something that shouldn’t exist inside me.
This can’t be real. That gas-station burrito had to have been laced with some crazy shit. There’s no other possible explanation as to why I’d be hallucinating the sensation of a freaking wolf passing through my head, demanding to be set free.
A groan escapes me as ice-cold hands grab my shoulders, pinching the muscles beneath my skin like live wires.
“Rowan? Can you hear me?” Iris demands, the panic in her voice clear.
“What if…” I think Liz starts to speak, but she’s cut off.
“Not now.” The sharp tone from Iris tells me everything I need to know.
I shouldn’t be surprised she’s pissed. I broke her only rule and…Holy shit. Did a bomb go off inside the manor?
Flashes come back in strobe-light like bursts—roaring heat, alcohol flying, the door disintegrating in a rush of fire and force. My body slamming back into the hallway. Then nothing.
My throat burns, dry and raw, like I’ve been screaming and inhaled gallons of smoke. “Wa…water,” I rasp, barely more than a breath.
“I’m going to sit you up, Rowan,” Iris says. “Don’t try to move on your own yet.”
Cool fingers brace my back. A glass presses to my lips, and I drink greedily, gulping down the icy liquid like I’ve just crawled out of the Sahara. Each swallow burns, then soothes. By the time I finish, I’m gripping the cup like it’s sacred.
“She’s already healed, Iris,” Liz murmurs, but I hear her like she’s breathing in my ear.
Which is strange, because when I pry my eyes open, she’s standing a good ten feet away, hands loose at her sides like she’s not completely freaking out about me being blown up.
Fried to a crisp for dinner and brought back to life for dessert. Sure, that tracks with how I’m feeling.
My gaze snaps to her, and something… inhuman growls in my chest. The sound bubbles up before I can stop it, thick and low andwrong.
Yeah, I’m just going to ignore whateverthatis.
I’m in a room, maybe one of the guest rooms, and lying in bed, covered by floral blankets. The lights are too bright, making me blink as I try to adjust. I inhale sharply, then regret the action as I gag.
I cansmellthem. The sharp bite of Iris’s perfume is layered with lavender and citrus. Liz smells like copper and…death? I must have hit my head pretty damn hard.
“What happened?” I demand, my voice a husky growl.
Iris meets my gaze with a sigh and mutters, “Well, it seems you took a detour through the third circle of hell and came out wearing someone else’s skin.”
My eyebrows raise. “What does that even mean?”
“It means,” Iris says with a tight smile, fiddling with the belt of her blue flannel robe—something she definitely wasn’t wearing the last time I saw her, “you opened a door you shouldn’t have, and we’ve been waiting hours for you to wake up. We’ll soon be having a very serious conversation about boundaries, once you’re not growling at people like a feral dog.”
“I wasn’t—” I stop, realization dawning. “Okay, fine. Point made. Wasn’t I hurt? Where are my injuries?”
“Depends on your definition ofinjuries,” Liz says with a shrug.
I look down at my hands. They’re perfect. Smoothand unmarked. Not even a speck of soot or a blister. Maybe I’m not remembering what happened clearly. Or this place has a world-class ER department I wasn’t told about. Either way, they’re hiding something.
My brain glitches, trying to reconcile the image of flying fireballs and pain with the pristine condition of my limbs. I was definitely blown up.
Wasn’t I? Wait…
