Chapter 15 The Sickbed Confession

• "When I woke, it wasn't my friend or my rival waiting. It was him."
• The first thing I registered wasn't the pale morning light filtering through tall infirmary windows, or the rough scratch of starched linen against my skin. It was the scent-rich and complex and achingly familiar.
• Not the sterile tang of healing herbs and disinfectant that typically clung to Crescent Hollow's medical wing like an unwelcome shroud, but something that pulled at my chest with the inevitability of gravity. Smoke and earth, winter storms held in check, threaded with something warm and indefinably masculine that made my wolf stir restlessly beneath my skin.