Betty POV
“Wake up and look at this mess, Betty.”
Luka’s voice grates against my ears. I force my eyelids apart. The morning light hits my eyes like a physical punch, making me blink until my vision clears.
“Stop shouting,” I mutter. My throat feels like sandpaper.
I try to shift my weight on the mattress, but a sharp, white-hot flash of agony shoots straight up my left leg. I gasp, digging my fingernails into the sheets. The memory slams back into my head. The rogue lycan. The sound of my own bone snapping when he dragged me down from the tree.
“I am not shouting,” Luka says. He stands up from the wooden chair by the bed, his shadow blocking out the harsh sun. He reaches down, grabs my shoulders, and hauls me up against the pillows with zero gentleness. “You have been out for hours.”
