Elara lay curled on the thin, scratchy mattress of the bunk bed. Each coarse fiber of the blanket scratched against her skin, an unwelcome sensation against her fevered flesh. Time had become a meaningless blur. Two days? Three? She couldn't be sure. The only constant was the gnawing emptiness in her stomach, the throbbing ache in her back, and the lingering sting of the lashes.
She can't cry anymore. Crying felt like a luxury she couldn't afford. It would only weaken her further, and she needed every ounce of strength she possessed to protect the life growing inside her.
A wave of nausea churned in her stomach. She wretched, but nothing came up. Just the bitter taste of bile and despair.
Meanwhile, on the other end of the pack house, Kaelen’s sharp eyes scanned the opulent living room.
