Nyx
The first thing I register is the smell of antiseptic. Sharp, chemical, sterile. It burns the back of my throat and drags me out of sleep. My eyelids flutter open to fluorescent lights buzzing faintly above me. The ceiling tiles are cracked, water-stained.
I am lying on one of the infirmary’s narrow beds. Stiff sheets tucked too tightly around my body like restraints. For a second, I think that I am still in the fight, still choking on blood, claws tearing across my chest.
My hand flies instinctively to the bandaged wound, heart pounding, breath coming too fast. But then I feel it. Her. The steady hum beneath my skin isn’t silence anymore. It is a low growl, a pulse that moves with mine. My wolf. Selene. Awake, alive, watching.
She never really introduced herself, but somehow, I
