Candela's p.o.v

The door to the rooftop flung open and Salvatore emerged, holding a blanket, his face filled with dread, a massive contrast to the deadly smug look on his face earlier. I was still laying down, my breathing now steadied, but I was shivering.

He raised me up, his arms surprisingly gentle beneath me as if I were made of glass. The blanket cling around my trembling frame, the warmth soaking into my frozen skin, but it did nothing to melt the confusion tangled in my ...