All Chapters of Poison: Chapter 1 - Chapter 5

Hadley The headache got there first. It sat behind my eyes like something with weight to it, something that had been put there rather than grown, and for a while I didn’t move. Just breathed through my nose and did the math on how many drinks it would have taken to feel like this. Whatever the number was, I’d clearly hit it and kept going. I rolled onto my side. Wrong move. The room tipped hard enough that I shoved my face into the pillow and stayed there with my eyes shut, waiting for my stomach to give up on climbing out through my throat. The pillow smelled wrong. That took longer to land than it should have. My sheets smelled like the lavender detergent Aunt Elara made the laundry staff use, because nothing in this palace was permitted to just smell like fabric. This smelled like cedar. Woodsmoke. Something underneath both of those that was unmistakably, infuriatingly male. And underneath that, faint, hours old and warm from skin — cinnamon and cognac and vanilla. Me. I’ve

Hadley I managed almost three hours. Or I passed out. There was probably a medical distinction between the two and I didn’t care enough to work out which one applied to me. When I woke, the sunlight had crept halfway across the bedroom floor and the headache had faded from *someone is removing my brain through my eye sockets* down to a dull throb I could ignore as long as I didn’t turn my head too fast. I stayed in bed anyway. Not because I was tired. I just didn’t want to go downstairs. Which was ridiculous, and I knew it was ridiculous while I was doing it. This was my house. I had spent my entire life wandering it barefoot, stealing food out of the kitchens, irritating people who technically outranked me badly enough that they could have had me removed from a room if Uncle Alaric hadn’t always found it funny. One bad morning shouldn’t have changed the shape of a building. Except every time I thought about going down, I heard him again. Don’t fucking touch me. I rolled ont

HadleyBy four that afternoon, Avery had been medically retired from nearly every activity known to wolves.According to Killian she shouldn’t train, carry anything heavier than a cup, drive, open doors with her injured hand, or exist more than six feet from him without supervision.According to Avery, she had strained her wrist.I was inclined to agree with Avery.I was sitting cross-legged near the foot of my bed with the sketchbook against my thighs when my door opened without so much as a knock.“Come in,” I said.“Thanks.”“Any time.”She kicked it shut behind her and dropped onto my bed hard enough to bounce me.“Careful. You’ll strain the other one.”“Don’t even joke. He’ll put me in a bubble.”“Your mate loves you.”“My mate is insane