Then they shift again, becoming Seth’s—hesitant, careful, his touch a question I don’t know how to answer. Their scents are a confusing muddle in the humid air: pine smoke, sweet tobacco, wild clover.
It’s too much. It’s overwhelming. I’m surrounded, a single point in a storm of Alphas, and the feeling is terrifying and intoxicating all at once.
A low hum vibrates through the mattress, a sound of pleasure and possession, and I don’t know who it’s coming from. I try to say their names, but my voice is a strangled gasp that’s swallowed by the weight of them all.
“Sedona! Sedona, wake up!”
A sharp, insistent shaking pulls me from the tangled web of the dream. I gasp, my eyes flying open to find Clara leaning over me, her face a mask of concern, her hands on my shoulders.
The room is dim, the early morning light just beginning to filter through the curtains. My body is drenched in a cold sweat, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
“Are you okay?” she asks, her voice tight with worry. “You were making these noises… and you’re burning up.”
I blink, trying to shake the phantom sensations from my skin. My head throbs, a deep, pulsing pain behind my eyes. “I’m fine,” I lie, my voice a hoarse croak. “Just a bad dream. And a worse headache than I was expecting.”
It’s been two days since the whole thing with Seth at Daisy’s. Two days of feeling… off. The first day was just a general unease, a sense of being out of sync with the world. But yesterday, the nausea hit.
It came in waves, a sudden, rolling sickness that had me gripping the edge of the bathroom counter. Then came the crying.
Not the sad, grief-stricken sobs from before, but sudden, inexplicable jags of tears that would spring up out of nowhere while I was sorting through my father’s books or making a cup of tea.
I thought I was about to get my period, but a quick, furtive check on my phone app showed I’m not due yet. Not for another two weeks.
So this is all so weird. A collection of symptoms with no name, no reason.
Clara’s hand moves to my forehead, her cool skin a welcome relief against my feverish flesh. “You’re definitely not fine, Sedona. You’re boiling.”
“I’m okay,” I insist, pushing myself up to a sitting position. The room spins for a second, and I have to close my eyes againstit. “I just need a shower. That’s all. The heat will help sweat out the fever.”
She doesn’t look convinced, but she nods, backing away slowly. “Okay. But if you’re not feeling better in an hour, we’re taking you to the ER. Or a real doctor. Not a vet.”
I manage a weak smile. “Deal.”
I convince her I’m okay, and she finally leaves, pulling the door closed behind her. I stumble into the bathroom, my body aching in a way that has nothing to do with physical exertion.
I turn the shower on, twisting the knob as far as it will go, needing the water to be as hot as I can stand it. Steam billows, fogging up the mirror until my reflection is nothing but a vague, shapeless blur.
I step under the spray, the water a scalding torrent against my skin. For a moment, it feels good, the heat a distraction from the fever thrumming through my veins.
But then it becomes too much. The heat on the outside is too much for the heat on the inside. I feel dizzy, lightheaded.
I quickly turn the cold water on, gasping as the icy shock hits my skin.
The shower doesn’t help. If anything, it makes it worse.
The restlessness is still there, an itch under my skin that I can’t scratch. A vibration in my bones that won’t stop.
I feel like I’m trapped in my own body, a prisoner of these strange, new feelings.
I need to move. I need to do something.
I get out, wrapping myself in a towel, my mind already made up. A run. That’s what I need. The physical exertion, the burning in my lungs, the pounding of my feet on the pavement.
That’s what I need to quiet the noise in my head.
I dress quickly, pulling on a pair of black leggings and a faded sports bra. I don’t bother with a shirt, just grab my running shoes and head downstairs.
The house is quiet, Clara probably giving me space.
