Anastasia woke up with a low gasp, her fingers clutching to the sheets. The long curtains and dark interior made her realize she wasn't in the recovery room where Nico had forcefully carried her.
The familiar scent of oud and cedarwood told her she was back in the belly of the beast.
Beside her, propped up by a mountain of pillows, was Matteo. He looked like a fallen king. He looked haggard, his skin was the color of parchment, but his eyes were two burning coals fixed on her face with a terrifying intensity.
As she tried to bolt upright, a sharp white heat lanced through her back.
She cried out, collapsing back into the mattress.
"Don't move," Matteo's voice was a dry rattle. It was cold and dangerously close.
"Lie down. You need to rest."
They both stayed silent in the dimly lit room. Anastasia staring up at the ceiling, but Matteo's eyes didn't waiver from her frame.
