“How do I feel?” I repeated, throwing my hands up. “I feel like my legs have filed a complaint to HR. I feel like my spine is never going to forgive me. I feel like I might need crutches. I feel like every time I blink I see your stupid smirk burned into the back of my eyelids. That is how I feel. And do not even get me started on my wolf. She is still screaming at me like I should tattoo Daddy across my forehead.”
His smirk deepened, which made me want to throw the pillow at his face. But then his gaze shifted, and I followed it, confused, until I saw where he was looking.
The sheets.
My stomach dropped straight through the mattress.
There it was, right under me. A dark, undeniable stain spread across the pristine white sheets. Blood. My blood. From last night.
My chest seized so har
