The world was burning. Or maybe it was drowning. Kael couldn't tell.
He was lying on something soft, but his body felt like it was encased in lead. His head was filled with a thick, pulsating purple fog that swirled with every heavy beat of his heart. Shadows danced on the periphery of his vision—distorted shapes that looked like laughing foxes and coiling snakes, mocking him.
'Ren,' his mind grasped at the name like a drowning man clutching driftwood. 'I have to find Ren.'
He tried to sit up, summoning the strength that usually flowed effortlessly through his massive frame. It wasn't there. His muscles felt like water.
"Shh," a voice cooed from the shadows. "Lie down, Alpha. The fever is still high."
A cool hand pressed against his bare chest, pushing him back down. It wasn't Ren's hand. Ren's hands were small, soft, and usually warm from cooking. This hand was larger, the fingers stronger, and the nails were sharp enough to scratch.
