So badly she yearned to return to Bane. Craved his arms around her, holding her close. Desired his breath fanning over her skin, and his scent filling her nose. Longed to tease and please him, and be teased and pleased in return.

Nola doubted she had the strength to teleport again. And what if he was still in beast form?

Her heartbeat sped up. Just before he’d transformed, he’d commanded her to run, wanting to save her from harm. She’d failed to comply, remaining nearby in case he needed her, and now she suffered the consequences. Her fault, not his.

Besides, despite the awful condition of her thigh, she didn’t regret meeting Drogo. Better to know what you were up against than to forever wonder. At least she hadn’t peed herself during the introduction. Gold star for me.

Once the punctures were clean and sealed with butterfly bandages, she removed and stored the jewelry she’d taken from Bane’s cave, and tied a plastic bag around her thigh. Then, she showered off the blood and grime.

Her pain hit jacked up, and she hurried to come up with a decent plan. Rest, if you can. Weather out the worst of the withdrawal. Figure out your next move.

She exited the stall and removed the bag. Exhausted, she brushed her teeth and changed into a T-shirt that read Careful, I Bite, a pair of short shorts and fluffy bunny slippers.

Clutching a bucket like a life raft, she limped to bed and eased under the covers. I’ve come full circle. The trip to Russia had begun and ended in this room. Here, she and Vale had lain beside each other and planned every detail. They’d talked, laughed and dreamed, unaware of the trials awaiting them.

Tears gathered and fell, wetting the sheets. Unfortunately, sleep did prove impossible, her pain simply too great. A fever ravaged her insides, using her organs as kindling. She alternated between sweating and shaking, a wildfire and an ice storm tormenting her at alternating intervals. A moan slipped from her compressed lips. Her heart pounded faster and far too hard, then fluttered and squeezed. Her chest constricted, flattening her lungs.

In an attempt to distract herself, she charged her phone and checked her email. Lots of messages from her bosses, asking where she was. She replied, apologizing for the lack of communication and asking for more time off. The bakery owner and the magazine editor responded in minutes—to fire her. Her landlord had also reached out to inform her that rent was late, and she had one week to pay or he’d kick her out.

He’d sent the message three days ago. So, she had four days left. Unless he’d meant one business week, in which case the time got cut in half.