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Spinning, spinning, spinning.
The next time I blink, the world is upside down, and the heat is gone. My body icy and far away.
What just…?
The door rattles upside-down. Slowly, my head turns.
Ah. I’m on the ceiling. Makes sense.
“Sol.” A hand reaches through the shattered window.
I follow the arm and luckily, it’s not mine, detached—there’s a whole person connected to the shoulder.
Wet grey eyes and soft brown hair. She smells like toasted caramel and sharp, omega panic.
“Lilah? You—"
“Don't talk.” She reaches for my shoulders. “We’ll get you to the hospital.”
“Yeah.” That’s a good idea.
There’s more.
A thousand, million questions.
But I’m too drifty to care.
Wrecked. Rattled. Just exhausted.
“Pack,” I gasp. The one important thing.
“They’re coming for you,” Lilah says gently, then calls over her shoulder. “Help pull her out.”
Something flutters in my chest.
Maybe hope.
Or maybe I’m impaled.
Either way.
I can’t die.
My pack is coming for me.
Smoky caramel drags back the curtain of chemically induced sleep, firing my body’s alarms.
Pain.
Haze.
No more heat, but a fuzzy, dangerous warmth and sudden panic when tubes tug my skin. Pheromones spiking, I throw off a suffocating sheet.
The lab?
Nonononono.
I rise, expecting to fight another war.
