I surfaced from the pitch-dark recesses of my subconscious in slow motion, as if treading through an ocean of molasses. I was lying on a soft bed. There were voices nearby, talking in hushed tones, and I recognized Logan"s right away. It reassured me that I was safe. If I concentrated, I would be able to make out the words, but it was too much effort. It was too much effort to open my eyes or even move my head, so I lay there and listened to the soothing timbre of Logan"s murmur.
I assessed my condition, the queasiness, the light-headedness, the feeling I had been dragged through sharp needles. Because of my fast metabolism and ability to mend, I deduced from my condition not much time had passed.
The pitch of Logan"s soothing murmur changed, gaining an angry edge, and I made the effort
