MARTHA POV
I still had my eyes closed when my brain caught up with my other senses.
Touch first.
Something warm under my cheek.
Something solid.
Way too solid to be the couch.
Hearing next.
A heartbeat.
Loud.
Slow.
Definitely not mine.
Then smell.
Musk.
Wood.
Clean skin.
Him.
Fuck.
What did I do?
No, wrong question.
What had I done?
I stayed perfectly still, because denial was free and, according to my current legal strategy, still technically available.
Unfortunately, my memory chose violence.
Soup.
The truth.
All of it.
Werewolves.
Mate bonds.
Royal families.
Hidden packs.
The fact that the man currently functioning as my pillow had also been my dog for over a week, which was a sentence I still could not think without feeling my soul leave my body and file a
