SAMANTHA
I woke up gasping.
My eyes flew open, my chest heaved. My hands grabbed at the sheets beneath me, twisting the thin fabric into knots. For a moment, I did not know where I was. The walls were grey and the window was barred.
Morning.
I was in my room. My small room in the slave quarters.
I touched my lips. They were not swollen. No one had kissed me. I touched my neck and found no bruises. I touched my collarbone and saw no marks. There was no evidence that any of it had happened.
It was a dream. Just a stupid dream.
But it had felt so real. The wings. The kisses. The way their hands felt on my skin. The way Finnian's silver feathers wrapped around my legs. The way Darlington's lips moved against my neck.
I sat up and put my head in my hands.
My face was wet. Tears. I had been crying in my sleep.
"That was some dream," Cece, my wolf, said inside my head.
"You saw it"
"I am inside you. Of course I saw it."
"Was it real?"
"What do you mean?"
