"You know what, dear sister?" Selene's voice dripped with venom and triumph, her wolf gleaming behind her eyes. "Even if you died right here, Fenris would not blame me for a single heartbeat. He would be too busy feeling sorry for me."
Lyra woke to agony.
A dull, throbbing ache radiated from her temple, laced with a tearing sensation so sharp that tears spilled from her eyes the moment she opened them.
The scent of healing herbs and antiseptic salves hung thick in the air, burning her throat and churning her stomach. Her heightened Omega senses made every smell ten times stronger, and the sterile tang of the pack healers' den was overwhelming.
Instinctively, she raised her hand toward the wound on her forehead—but her wrist was caught mid-motion and pressed firmly back down.