Chapter 18

When I wake up, the first thing I noticed was the scent, pinewood and something faintly sterile, like disinfectant. Then came the ache in my head. Not sharp, but heavy, like my skull had been stuffed with cotton.

I blinked.

The ceiling above me was wooden. Old beams stretched across it, dust clinging to every groove. I was lying on something soft... too soft to be concrete, too rough to be a proper bed. A couch?

Where am I?

I pushed myself up, the blanket slipping off my body, and immediately regretted it. The room tilted for a second. My limbs felt like they'd been dipped in molasses. Every muscle resisted.

Chloroform. That bastard actually used chloroform.

I scanned the space. A rustic cabin, dimly lit by a single oil lamp on the side table. One window, but the curtains were drawn shut. A fire burned low in the hearth.

And there, leaning against the stone fireplace, arms crossed, eyes unreadable, stood Damian.

"You're awake," he said simply, not moving.

My throat dried up. "Where...