Lila’s P.O.V.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the window where the moonlight filtered in through the thin curtains. This had been the first room I had stayed in after moving into Skye’s house. Back when things were much simpler. Back when Skye had just been a hot guy with that stupid, irresistible grin and a habit of showing up at the exact moment I had needed help and a place to stay to focus on my new life. Back when I didn’t know he was a werewolf.
My fingers dug into the comforter as the memory of his face—half-apologetic, half-defensive—burned into my brain.
“I’m done with the lying, Skye,” I had said to him earlier, storming away before he could say anything else back to me, hiding myself in my room, in the hopes to be able to clear my head and find some peace.
But now,
