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"Join the club." I wrapped my hands around the mug, drawing comfort from its warmth. "I told him I'm done.” I should have known better, but being fucked under orders was a new low, even for me.

"Is that true?" Emery asked gently. "Are you done?"

I stared into my hot chocolate, watching the marshmallows slowly dissolve. "I don't know," I admitted. "I'm just so...frustrated. And hurt. I get he’s trying to keep me safe, but I’d thought it was more." I met Emery’s eyes. “Why am I never enough?” Why did no one ever want to keep me?

Emery nodded, understanding in his eyes. "Give it time. Both of you."

"Time for what? For him to get himself killed trying to be some kind of martyr?" I shook my head. "No thanks."

"Phoenix won't let that happen," Emery assured me. "Neither will the pack."

I wasn't so sure, but I was too exhausted to argue further. "I think I'm going to lie down for a while," I said, sliding off the stool. "My head is killing me."

"Concussion still bothering you?" Emery asked, concern creasing his brow.

"Probably just stress," I said, forcing a smile. "Nothing a nap won't fix."

Emery didn't look convinced, but he let me go. I retreated to the guest room in their wing of the house, closing the door behind me and collapsing onto the bed. The sheets smelled freshly laundered, but I found myself missing the woodsy, masculine scent of Bayer's bed. Ridiculous, considering I'd only spent one night there.

My thoughts were all about Bayer. About last night. The worst part was that I'd felt something real last night. Something that went beyond physical attraction or stress relief. When he'd held me afterward, whispering words I'd been too drowsy to fully process, I'd felt safe. Wanted. Like maybe—just maybe—I'd finally found someone who saw past the defense mechanisms to the person underneath.

But it had all been a lie. Or if not a lie, then a duty. A favor to his alpha. Keep Danny occupied. Keep Danny from doing something stupid. Make sure Danny doesn't get in the way.

I buried my face in the pillow, muffling the sob that tore from my chest. I was so tired of not being enough. Not smart enough, not strong enough, not special enough.

I must have fallen asleep, because when I opened my eyes again, the room was dark except for the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains. My phone showed it was just after two in the morning. I'd slept for hours, but instead of feeling refreshed, I felt worse. Much worse.

My skin felt too tight, burning with a fever I couldn't explain. My whole body throbbed, and every muscle in my body ached as if I'd run a marathon. I kicked off the blankets, suddenly overwhelmed by heat, but the cool air did nothing to soothe me.

Something was wrong. Seriously wrong.

I managed to sit up, fighting a wave of dizziness. My t-shirt clung to my sweat-soaked skin, and I peeled it off, desperate for relief. The cool air against my chest sent a shiver through me that was equal parts discomfort and...something else. Something I couldn't name.

I reached for my phone, intending to text Emery, when another wave of heat crashed over me. This one was different—not just a fever, but a liquid warmth pooling low in my belly, spreading outward until my entire body thrummed with it. I gasped, dropping the phone as my hands began to shake.

What the hell was happening to me?

I managed to stand, swaying slightly as I made my way to the ensuite bathroom. The light was blinding, and I squinted at my reflection in the mirror, trying to bring it into focus. My face was flushed, my pupils dilated so wide my eyes looked black. Sweat beaded on my forehead, running down my chest.

"Fuck," I muttered, turning on the cold water and splashing it over my face. It helped for approximately three seconds before the heat returned, stronger than before.

I needed help. This wasn't normal. Whatever this was—virus, infection, delayed concussion symptoms—I needed a doctor. Or at least Emery.

I stumbled back to the bedroom, retrieving my phone from where it had fallen. My fingers felt clumsy, disconnected from my brain as I tried to type a message to Emery.

Sick. Help.

I hit send, then sank onto the edge of the bed, waiting for a response. Minutes passed, each one feeling like an eternity as the strange heat continued to build. My skin felt hypersensitive, every brush of fabric against it sending jolts of sensation through my body. And there was something else—a building pressure, a need I couldn't define.

The door burst open without warning. I looked up, expecting Emery, but it was Phoenix who stood there, his expression shifting rapidly from concern to shock as he slapped a hand in front of his nose and mouth and backed out.

"Emery," he called over his shoulder, his voice urgent. "Quick!"

I tried to stand, but my legs wouldn't cooperate. "I need a doctor," I moaned, but my voice sounded strange to my own ears—rough, desperate.

Phoenix stayed in the doorway, keeping his distance. "Danny, I need you to try to stay calm. Emery's coming. He can help explain."

"Explain what?" I demanded, a spike of fear cutting through the haze of heat and need. "Am I dying?"