I wake to urgent voices in the corridor, the heavy tread of boots against stone pulling me from fitful sleep. My body aches in unfamiliar places, a constant reminder of what happened hours ago in this bed. Zane's scent surrounds me, on the sheets, on my skin, inside me, marking me as claimed in ways that go beyond the bite on my neck. I push myself up on my elbows, wincing at the soreness between my thighs, and strain to hear the whispered conversation outside the door.
"—at the northern checkpoint," Vance's voice carries through the wood. "Says he's her father."
My heart stops. My father?
'He's alive?' Nyx perks up in my mind, suddenly alert. 'Our pack-father is alive?'
The door opens, Zane's massive form silhouetted against the hallway light. His expression is unreadable as his eyes
