Soft. Weightless. Warm.
For one ridiculous second, Talia floated on the edge of consciousness. Heaven, she thought. The Moon Goddess gave me a cloud.
She reached out, expecting Thomas. Expecting him to kiss her hair and swear the rejection, the river, and the fall were just a nightmare.
Her fingers closed on cool linen.
Not arms. Not heaven. Not Thomas.
Awareness slammed in like an iron bell. Pain fired behind her eyes; bruises stacked on bruises. Her left hip pulsed with the solid memory of rock. Wolves healed fast, but the witch-cold of the fen still clung to her skin like a nettle.
Sound arrived last: birds trilling, the steady rush of water, and the rustle of pages turning.
She cracked her eyes open.
The room was a striking contradiction, a blend of two worlds. Rough, ancient s
