Prince Alaric's body went rigid the moment he felt a soft presence press gently against his back. The faintest whisper of a voice reached him—tender and familiar.
"Ari," she called.
He blinked.
Once.Twice.
Then, the world around him came rushing in like a cold wind.
He was outside. His knuckles throbbed, pulsing with pain, raw and bloody. Splinters clung to the torn skin. He stared at his trembling hand, confusion knitting his brows. He had blacked out again—lost time, lost control.
The haze that had swallowed him up was now gone, but the aftermath stung like fire.
The hand really hurt.
A delicate scent drifted through the air—a mix of wildflowers, the fragrance was so gentle, so familiar, that it wrapped around him like a memory, soft and sweet. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Each breath felt like an anchor pulling him back from the storm inside his head.
