Page 24 of Tempest Blazing (The Dragonne Library #3)

I took inventory. The ache in my ribs was barely a whisper now. The exhaustion that had dragged at me last night was gone, replaced by that restless energy that meant my body was ready to move even if my brain wasn't quite there yet.

"Better," I said, and meant it. "Much better."

Relief flickered across his features. "Good. The others are awake—I can hear them moving around. Ciaran thinks we should eat and talk."

Of course he did. Because that's what responsible adults did after magical mayhem and emotional upheaval—they sat down over breakfast and discussed it like civilized people instead of hiding under the covers until the world made sense again.

The thought of facing all of them—Kane's intensity, Draven's protective hovering, Ciaran's knowing looks—made my stomach twist. Not because I didn't want to see them, but because I felt so damn exposed. Like every emotion was tattooed across my skin in permanent ink.

"I need a shower first," I said, already starting to untangle myself from Mason's arms. "And some time to... collect my thoughts."

Mason's hands lingered on my arms as I sat up, his touch gentle but reluctant to let go.

A pulse of warmth traveled through the mate bond—not his emotions, but something deeper.

Pure reassurance, like he was wrapping me in invisible armor.

"Take all the time you need. I'll tell them you're awake but not ready yet. "

The understanding in his voice nearly undid me. He got it—the need to rebuild some semblance of control before facing the group. The mate bond carried more than just his emotions; it carried his instinctive knowledge of what I needed.

"Thank you," I whispered, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before sliding off the bed.

The bathroom was just as luxurious as the rest of Ciaran's sanctuary, all marble and gleaming fixtures that probably cost more than my annual salary. I turned the shower as hot as I could stand and stepped under the spray, letting the water wash away yesterday's nightmare.

But as the steam rose around me, as the heat soaked into my bones, I caught sight of myself in the glass shower door. And froze.

Dark bruises circled my throat like a grotesque necklace, the marks from the collar still vivid against my skin. My ribs showed faint discoloration where they'd been cracked. There were other marks too—small cuts and scrapes from the arena, evidence of a night I'd rather forget.

My hands came up to my throat involuntarily, fingers tracing the bruised skin.

The flesh felt hot and tight under my touch, phantom pressure lingering like the collar was still there, still stealing my breath.

The collar was gone, but I could still feel it.

The weight of it. The way it had stolen my voice, my power, my sense of self.

You were helpless.

The thought hit like a physical blow, and suddenly I was struggling to breathe. The shower walls felt too close, the steam too thick. I pressed my back against the marble, hands shaking as I tried to ground myself.

You couldn't fight back. Couldn't protect yourself. Couldn't even speak.

The water kept falling, but I barely felt it. All I could feel was the memory of that collar, the way it had made me small and powerless and wrong. How easily they'd put it on me. How completely it had worked.

What if it happened again? What if next time, there was no rescue? What if—

Stop. I forced the spiral to halt, forced myself to take a real breath. The collar was gone. I was safe. Mason and the others had made sure of that.

The mate bond pulsed again, stronger this time. Mason's presence wrapped around my panic like a shield, steady and unshakeable. He wasn't intruding—just reminding me I wasn't alone.

But the fear lingered, clinging to my skin like oil. The sense that my body wasn't entirely mine anymore, that something had been taken from me that I wasn't sure how to reclaim.

I finished washing mechanically, going through the motions without really being present. When I finally turned off the water and stepped out, I felt hollow. Clean, but hollow.

The towel was soft against my skin, but even that simple pleasure felt muted. Everything felt muted, like I was experiencing the world through thick glass.

I was reaching for the clothes someone—Ciaran, probably—had left folded on the counter when it hit me. The scent.

Home. Cinnamon and warmth and the faint musk that clung to all my favorite sweats. These weren't random clothes from some magical wardrobe. These were mine . From my apartment.

My hands stilled on the fabric, a soft gray hoodie that I'd owned for years. Underneath were my favorite leggings, the ones with the small hole near the left knee that I'd never bothered to fix. Even my underwear—plain cotton, nothing fancy, but mine .

Someone had gone to my apartment. Had gathered my things, had thought about what I might want to wear, had anticipated my needs before I'd even known I had them.

The thoughtfulness of it hit me like a wave. They'd seen me broken and afraid, and their response had been to bring me pieces of home. To wrap me in familiar comfort when I needed it most.

I sank onto the closed toilet seat, still clutching the hoodie. The mate bond thrummed with Mason's quiet strength, but underneath it was something else—the echo of care from all of them. They'd chosen to do this. Chosen me.

Control was an illusion, wasn't it? Yesterday had proven that. But maybe that was okay. Maybe being vulnerable didn't mean being powerless. Maybe letting them care about me wasn't weakness—it was trust.

The hoodie slipped over my head easily, the familiar weight of it settling around my shoulders like armor. Each piece of clothing felt like reclaiming a small part of myself, but also like accepting a gift I was still learning to believe I deserved.

I caught sight of myself in the mirror and didn't flinch this time. The bruises on my throat were still visible above the hoodie's neckline, stark reminders of how quickly everything could change. But I was here. I'd survived. And I wasn't facing what came next alone.

The scent of breakfast was stronger now, accompanied by the low murmur of voices from somewhere deeper in the sanctuary. My stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn't eaten since... when? Yesterday morning?

The mate bond pulsed gently, carrying Mason's steady presence even through the walls between us. Not intrusive, just... there. Available. Patient.

He's waiting for you.

They all were. And maybe that was enough. Maybe I didn't need to have all the answers or feel completely whole. Maybe I just needed to show up and let them care about me, one moment at a time.

Even if it scared me senseless.

I straightened my shoulders, took a deep breath, and reached for the door handle. This time, I turned it.