A dull throbbing spread through Delilah's skull, pulling her from the suffocating darkness.
Her eyelids felt heavy, and when she tried to lift them, a blinding pain shot through her head. A low groan escaped her lips.
The air smelled of wood and something faintly medicinal. The bed beneath her was soft and comfortable unlike the cold, hard ground she last remembered falling onto.
Panic twisted in her gut when she remembered her fall.
Where was she?
She forced her eyes open, blinking against the light filtering through the curtains.
The room was small, rustic—wooden walls, a single window with sheer curtains drawn halfway, a nightstand with a glass of water and a bottle of pills.
Then her eyes landed on Mark and she felt a wave of despair wash over her. How had she ended up here with him again despite how she had fought to run away from him?
