LIAM’S P.O.V.
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, every muscle tight with unease. The floor was cold under my feet, grounding me in a reality I didn’t want to accept. My Lycaon, Aragorn, prowled under my skin, his growls low and unrelenting.
This wasn’t right.
I didn’t touch her. I couldn’t have.
And yet, every piece of evidence in the room screamed the opposite. Her scent clung to the sheets, to me, thick and heavy like chains I hadn’t chosen. The bruises scattered across her collarbone looked fresh, like hands had pressed there too hard. My hands?
“Liam…”
Marla’s voice was soft, groggy, almost delicate. She shifted on the bed, the blanket sliding lower, skin bare against the morning light. “You’re awake.”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The words caught like ash in my throat.
He
