VERA
A soft knock sounded at the door. I threw the cookies I had been munching under my duvet and quickly adjusted the sheets over my body and put on the most pathetic expression I could manage as the doctor entered.
"Luna Vera," he greeted, his eyes roaming anxiously over my face. "How are you feeling?"
I sighed, and the sigh dissolved into a rasping cough. Sharon hurried over with some water for me to sip.
"I am still very weak," I told the doctor once I could speak again. I didn't even have to try hard to sound hoarse—my voice was cracked already.
"That is to be expected after what you went through," the doctor murmured sympathetically, placing his bag on a side table. "The Alphas sent me to examine you."
He pulled up a chair next to my bed, listened to my breathing, checked my pulse, examined the cuts and bruises on my body especially the large one on my temple and raised my eyelids to ascertain how I was really doing.
