Michael's pov

The fire was low in my room, and the stone walls were long shadowed by the firelight. I was still wearing my boots. I hadn't allowed my body to relax. I was frozen in the quiet, reliving every moment of the forest night.

She was being targeted by assassins. Matilda had retaliated like a wolf without fangs in a corner, swiping branches like knives. She ought to have fallen and perished, but she didn't.

She was now lying across my bed, pallid, covered in linen, and already ...