Ara's POV
The noises pulled me from sleep— boots on hardwood, the clank of armor, low voices murmuring in the halls. This abandoned packhouse was empty yesterday. Just four people were living here, including me.
Now it sounded like an army had moved in.
A knock at the door caught my attention.
"Coming in!" Aurelia’s voice, bright and unapologetic, preceded her as she slipped inside, her arms laden with bags.
"Good morning!" She beamed, dumping the bags onto the bed. "I came to check on you."
"Good morning," I murmured, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. My neck ached where Damon’s teeth had grazed last night, a phantom sting that sent heat pooling low in my stomach.
"Also, I wanted to see if any of these fit you." She patted the bags. "You can’t keep wearing Damon’s shirts,
