Page 140 of Unveil

Wait, no. He saidourbed…

Butterflies take flight in my stomach only for it to instantly seize, writhing with cramps. I wince.

Ugh.

My psych gave me the okay to take my medicine, but I figured out pretty quick that I hadn’t needed to worry. Because after being drugged twice, getting kidnapped twice, losing myvirginity one-point-five times, and nearly dying thrice over, of course I would get my period.

Pity party aside, I took my medicine and half-sleepwalked my way onto Orion’s chest. Somehow, I’m moderately clean and finally out of mySwan Lakeoutfit, wearing Orion’s comfy shirt instead. RIP the boxers he let me borrow, though, because Aunt Flo takes no prisoners.

“Mmm, an honest-to-God mattress,” I murmur lazily, one eye squinting open and landing on something I never thought I’d see again.

“Is that my bouquet?”

He shifts under me and nods. “We passed the car on the way back. Everything in it was burned up except them. I couldn’t resist stopping to grab it.”

The wildflowers and blush roses are dry, but no less gorgeous.

“Thank you,” I whisper, choking on all the emotion clogging my throat. I squeeze the rest of my gratitude into him. Until he groans.

My eyes snap open, and one look at him makesmegroan.

“Oh my God, are you okay? Your bruises. They’re even worse!”

Everywhere he’s not tattooed, I see more bruised skin than healthy. I’m queasy thinking about the injuries hidden underneath his ink. He got these wounds fighting for his life. Fighting for me.

Fighting forus.

“I’m okay.” He grins, waving me off. “I bruise easier than a peach. I’ll heal by tomorrow.”

I roll my eyes and resist the urge to poke one, the thick bandage protecting his ribs making me feel guilty for even thinking it.

“How areyoufeeling?” he asks, sliding his hand into mine.

Jesus. Where to begin? It’s been one hell of a week. I’m banged up, in an ankle boot, and my head is killing me after taking my medicine for the first time in days. Orion nearly died saving me. We… killed people—something I’ll for sure have to unpack later.

And then there’s the worst part of all.

One of my friends died.

“Luna?” Orion prompts, tone laced with worry.

“Sorry, I’m trying to figure out how to answer that. My next therapy appointment is going to be one kick-ass soap opera season.”

“Just one season?” He snorts, then sobers. “Alright, fair. How do you feel after taking your medicine, though?”

“Pretty good. Not too groggy other than the usual headache after missing a couple of days. My mind seems… normal. Whatever that means.” I giggle. “How long did I sleep?”

“Fourteen hours, maybe?” He yawns. “It was still night when I carried you inside.”

My jaw drops. “Did I lay on you that entire time?”

His brows pull together in confusion. “Well, after you freshened up in the bathroom and got the ankle boot on… pretty much, yeah. Why?”

I scan his battered frame. “And you just laid like a mummy for fourteen hours straight while I slept?”

“Well, you did sleepwalk to the bathroom one more time. I had to help you there.” He winks.

“Ugh, embarrassing,” I grumble. “At least it wasn’t an outhouse this time.”