Elara I woke at 4:30 in the morning staring at a ceiling I didn't recognize. I'd tossed and turned all night, given that I never slept well in new places. And last night exhaustion had been losing badly, because the other half of my brain had been occupied with something far more irritating than strange surroundings. Him. The man at the training post. The way his scent had wrapped around my senses and I'd entered my room, my slit all soaking wet, refusing to leave even after I'd put a full house between us. And the most irritating part? I didn't even know his name. Maybe it's really for the best. I threw the blanket off and got up before I could keep going down that road. Stepping out, I found Helena at the kitchen counter working. “Good morning,” I said. She turned, “Good morning, sweetheart. Sleep well?” “Yes,” She gave me a brief, knowing look and said nothing about the lie. “Can I help with anything?” “Not with this.” She nodded at the small clay bowl she
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