When the storm wakes me at two thirty-seven in the morning, it's a relief.
For whatever reason, my dreams were infested with zombies. There's only so much running away from the undead a girl can handle dreaming about—which is zilch, by the way—and I'm way above my quota with one night alone.
Drenched in sweat, I slip out of bed. Sara and Bun don't even twitch on their two-thirds of the mattress, cordoned off with a pile of rolled up blankets and body pillows Caine acquired from the store.
He's insistent on reducing even the possibility of accidental touches, even though I can't feel anything when I touch Bun. It's only Caine who seems to pull my energy out.
Lyre hadn't given much explanation when I explained it to her, not that we had much time to talk about it in between… everything else. Just said Bun needed the stabilization, and I should know my limits. But, of course, the Lycan King doesn't agree, saying if I knew my limits I wouldn't have fallen unconscious.
