Waking up is not a gentle return to consciousness. It is a violent, blinding collision with reality.
The first thing I register is the smell of antiseptic and burnt ozone. The second is the pain. It is not the dull, manageable ache of my healing shoulder. It is a searing, white-hot agony that starts at the base of my skull and shoots down my left arm, turning my fingers into useless, numb claws.
I try to gasp, but my ribs are bound so tightly I can only take shallow, ragged sips of air.
"Isla. Breathe. Just breathe."
Kade’s voice is a deep, gravelly rasp, vibrating through the mattress. His right hand is wrapped securely around my waist, his physical presence a solid, unyielding wall of heat. Through the mate bond, I feel his profound, suffocating terror, masked by a fortress of cold,
