The first light of dawn crept through the cracks in Zhǐ Ruò's hut like an unwelcome intrusion.
She had not slept.
Every time she closed her eyes, the image burned behind her lids: Bai Yue's head tilted back, her lips parted, that low, breathy moan that had sent heat rushing through Zhǐ Ruò's veins. And Zhāo Yàn above her, his muscular back flexing, his claws pressing into her thigh with a possessive hunger that made Zhǐ Ruò's cheeks burn even now, hours later, lying alone in the dark.
I am going to die of embarrassment, she thought, pressing her palms to her burning face. I am going to walk out of this hut, and Bai Yue will take one look at me and know. She will know what I saw. She will know what I heard. And then she will laugh at me, or worse, she will pity me, and I will simply dissolve into the earth.
