EMBER'S POV
My body feels like it was mauled by a truck, ten times, and reversed.
The unfamiliar ceiling spins above me in lazy circles that my brain can't correct, and the room smells like laundry detergent that isn't mine and a shirt collar against my neck that smells like Knox.
And that last detail is the one my body grabs onto before my brain has finished loading — the scent of him wrapped around me, which means someone undressed me and put me in this and the someone was him and I am safe.
I turn my head and he's already moving.
From the floor — he's been on the floor, back against the wall, between me and the door — and he crosses the space so fast his injuries don't have time to register their complaints.
His hands find my face and his fingers are pressing into my pulse points,
