Benedict
I wake slowly with the smell of antiseptic mixed with the scent of Sloane’s honey smell in my nose. The moment I shift my body, fire erupts in my neck.
I try to lift my hands, but one is being held.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you?” my father’s soft voice says. He places his hand on my chest, holding me steady and grounding me at the same time.
I open my eyes, and blink, waiting for them to focus.
“Wh …” I begin, then quickly stop when that fire erupts in my throat again.
“Don’t try to talk. Do you remember what happened? Answer in the mind link,” he says, keeping his voice low.
‘I don’t remember,’ I say and realize that Marrok is being quiet. Too quiet.
‘Marrok?’
I know my eyes go wide when I look at my father and I hear the sound of a heart monitor speeding up as my h
