My body feels strange. Still, heavy, like my blood is moving slower than it should. The ache in my neck is a dull throb now—low, persistent, but not the bone-deep agony I remember from before. Those old bites used to burn through me, down to the marrow. This one…it just hurts. Manageable. Almost bearable.
I push myself up on my elbows, blinking until the room comes into focus. That’s when I see them.
Alex, Tadeo, and Dakota—sprawled out on the floor beside the bed, sound asleep.
Alex is on his back, one arm thrown over his face, his other hand still half-curled toward the mattress, like he fell asleep reaching for me. Tadeo is next to him, chest rising slow and steady, the blanket he must’ve pulled down from my nest bunched up under his head. Dakota’s the closest,hair sticking up in every direction, his mouth hanging open like he fell asleep mid-conversation.
The sight of them makes my chest twist. They look…peaceful. Like they stayed to make sure I’d wake up safe.
Something in me softens.
I still hate them for what they did, but I don’t really know how to process that right now. I’m too groggy.
Quietly, I slide out from under the covers, careful not to let the blankets rustle too much. My bare feet hit the cool floor, and I wince as the ache in my neck pulses again. My hand lifts automatically, brushing over the bite. The skin there is swollen and tender.
I should probably clean it.
Not wanting to wake anyone, I tiptoe across the room, keeping my steps light, and slip through the cracked door into the hall.
The bacon smell is stronger out here, drifting from the kitchen. My stomach growls, but I ignore it. My body still feels too strange to eat.
Instead, I head straight for the bathroom and flick on the light.
The floor tiles are cool beneath my feet. The mirror above the sink catches the light, and when I glance up, I freeze.
The brand-new mark stares back at me—angry red, the skin around it bruised in soft shades of violet and blue. But the punctures themselves are clean. Precise. Like Knox was trying to hurt me as little as possible.
It should make me feel better. It doesn’t.
Or maybe it does?
I can’t tell anymore.
Bitterness twists under my ribs, warring with a quiet, reluctant gratitude that only makes me feel worse.Everything about it—about him and this pack—feels like a contradiction.
I use the bathroom in silence, splash cold water on my face, and pat my new mark dry. The sting at my neck flares when I dab the towel there, and I flinch, hating that it makes me think of the tender way Knox sucked when he bit me. The way he held me, even when I was screaming and cursing afterwards.
When I’m done, I draw a slow breath, steadying myself, then push away from the sink and head toward the kitchen.
Halfway there, I pass the laundry basket sitting by the laundry room door. It’s overflowing with folded shirts and a few clean ones still warm from the dryer. My fingers brush over the fabric until I find one that’s unmistakably Tadeo’s.
It smells mostly clean, but there’s a faint trace of him still clinging to it—sun-warmed coconut and lime, with that soft toasted note that always makes my chest ache. The cotton’s faintly rough, the scent baked in by sweat and heat.
I pull it over my head, the hem brushing my thighs, sleeves hanging loose past my elbows. The collar catches against my jaw, and I pause, fingers curling in the fabric as I lift it to my face.
It smells like comfort. Like safety.
My throat tightens.
I can’t help but think about the way Tadeo looked at me last night—steady and sure, telling me that I was perfect, that we didn’t need a mental bond. I remember the way they all fell to their knees, saying such beautiful things.
And I want to believe them so badly.
I guess only time will tell.
I take one last breath of Tadeo’s scent before lowering the collar.
The smell of bacon grows stronger the closer I get to thekitchen, curling through the hall like it’s trying to coax me forward.
