I weaved in and out of consciousness until I found myself lying in Asher’s arms, his fingers pushing my hair back tenderly. My head felt cloudy and disoriented, opening my eyes to see him staring down at me. Nausea pooled at the bottom of my throat. My back and shoulders ached. The only thing that felt good along my body was Asher holding me. He smelt nice and relaxing, his smoldering gaze warming me from the inside.
“How are you feeling?” he asked. His finger brushes against a cut on my forehead and I winced at the abrupt pain expanding.
“My body hurts, especially my head,” I told him, sitting up. I touched my wound, feeling the light fabric of the gauze placed on it. Another one had been placed around my neck from where mom strangled me this morning, begging for the passcode. I jolted
