HAZEL’S P.O.V.
I was twisted around in front of the bathroom mirror, after having stripped out of clothes I didn’t remember changing into, to see if he left me evidence of the night before—more evidence than my ruined, bloody bed, and how sore I was, and the ache in my neck, and yeah, I didn’t dress myself.
Hell, I didn’t even remember falling asleep. The last thing I remembered was something akin to confusion flitting across Van’s features.
“Go to sleep, princess.”
Finding marks on my body solidified it for me. Last night wasn’t a dream.
Van was alive—sort of.
He was sort of alive, and my ass and hips looked like I’d been in a really kinky fight, which considering what we did, I supposed a kinky fight wasn’t necessarily incorrect. My skin was red and welted, bruised, and he’d
