Aira woke up with a sharp jolt, her breath catching in her throat like a scream that had been stifled mid-air. She didn't recognize the ceiling above her — too dark, too regal, too foreign.
Her eyes shot open slowly at first before her lashes rapidly fluttered almost like her eyes were working overtime to figure out what was going on.
Panic bloomed in her chest like wildfire. Her hands twitched against warm fabric, and it was only when she shifted slightly that she felt it — an arm. Strong. Muscled. Heavy across her waist.
Her heart stopped.
This wasn't her room.
And this definitely wasn't her bed and that thought was enough to bring back memories that sleep had somehow managed to dull and erase.
Her spine stiffened, and she sucked in a quiet breath, head turning with painstaking slowness. As soon as her eyes landed on the familiar silhouette behind her, she froze.
Zyren.
Her blood ran cold.
