Kate's eyelids fluttered open, light filtering through a large window adorned with a silver wolf howling at the moon. The sterile scent of disinfectant assaulted her nose, a stark contrast to the earthy fragrance of the forest. Her head throbbed, a dull ache radiating from a deep gash on her arm. Disoriented, she tried to sit up, but the world spun precariously. A wave of nausea threatened to engulf her, and she squeezed her eyes shut, willing the dizziness to subside.
A rustle beside her drew her attention. Deimon slumbered in a plush armchair, his face etched with worry even in sleep. His broad chest rose and fell with each breath, a reassuring rhythm in the sterile silence. Memories of the attack flooded back—the snarling humans, the searing pain, the frantic escape. But most vivid was
