Lilian’s POV
Regret is a flavor.
I discovered this at approximately 6:30 AM. It tastes like copper, stale corn syrup, and the lingering, ghostly aftertaste of cheap beer.
I woke up with a gasp, my body jerking as if I’d fallen from a great height. The world was pitch black, silent, and suffocatingly hot. For a terrifying second, I didn’t know where I was. All I felt a heavy weight across my waist, a wall of heat against my back, and the scratch of cotton that wasn’t mine against my skin.
Then, the memory of the night slammed into me like a freight train.
The poachers. The whiskey. The escape. The dancing. The batmobile.
Night, Wolf.
I squeezed my eyes shut, a groan vibrating in my throat. Oh, god. I had called him “Wolf.” I had told him I was a “siege engine.” I had demanded cheese
