Noah's consciousness surfaced slowly, like swimming up from the bottom of a deep, murky pool. His head felt like someone had used it for target practice with a sledgehammer, and his mouth tasted like he'd been chewing on synthetic metal for hours. The first thing he registered was warmth—bodies pressed against him from multiple angles, soft breathing, and the lingering scent of perfume mixed with something else he couldn't quite identify.
His eyes cracked open to find himself in the center of what looked like the aftermath of a particularly enthusiastic pillow fight, if pillows were replaced with gorgeous women in various states of undress. Kira was curled against his left side, her blue hair fanned across his chest like spilled paint. Zara had somehow ended up at his feet, using his leg as a pillow, while Lysa was sprawled across the foot of the massive bed.
