Kael stirred, a piercing ache running down his spine, but it was dulled—faint, as if it no longer belonged to him. His breath came shallow, heavy with something too sweet, too sterile. Light filtered through slanted blinds above him, casting stripes across the white-washed ceiling.
A ceiling he did not recognize.
He blinked, the events of the crash flooding back like shards of broken memory. The deer. The swerve. The roll. Ashara’s scream. Her body jerking beside him as the car twisted violently through the air.
Then, darkness.
“…Ashara,” Kael rasped.
He sat up with a jolt, his muscles instantly tense, but unlike before, he felt no broken bones, no searing wounds. His body had healed, as expected—werewolf regeneration did not disappoint. But it wasn’t the pain he feared.
It was her absence.
The sterile room had no warmth, no pulse of humanity. The air was… wrong. Too still. Fragrant, but in a way that spoke of blood covered by flowers.
He knew that scent.
Vampires.
Kael threw the blan
