(Winter’s POV)
Winter lay flat on the mat, staring up at the ceiling as her chest rose and fell in deep, steady pulls of air.
Her body ached. Not sharply, not painfully, but thoroughly. A delicious pain she enjoyed.
A cut burned faintly along her cheek, and she could taste the familiar metallic trace of blood from her split lip. It wasn’t much. It never was. Her Lycan was already working beneath the surface, knitting, restoring, erasing the worst of it even as she lay there.
Beside her—Kat was the same. Flat on her back, breathing just as hard, her chest rising and falling in sync with Winter’s as strands of her dark hair spilled loose from what had once been a braid. Sweat clung to her skin, bruises already fading even as new ones settled in.
They had pushed each other. Hard.
Wint
