47. Where Do I Stand With You?

Aella

As I slowly come to, my eyes struggle to adjust to the soft, dim lighting of the hospital room. A dull ache throbs in my neck, pulling me back into the harsh reality of last night’s events. My fingers twitch, and I’m vaguely aware of a warm presence holding my hand.

Confused, I glance down and my eyes lock onto Roman’s head resting on my thigh. Even in sleep, he looks like a man carrying the weight of a world full of expectations and responsibilities. His grip on my hand is gentle but firm, as if he’s afraid to let go.

The memories of the night come flooding back—the full moon hunt, the scent of an intruder, and the gray wolf. My fingers instinctively move to touch my bandaged neck, the sensations of fangs and fur still hauntingly fresh.

I find myself staring at Roman’s face, taking in the details I’ve known but never truly looked at—the strong lines of his jaw, the ruggedness of his cheek, and the shapely curve of his lips. His cheek is already showing signs of stubble; how lo