HAZEL
The knocking started softly.
Then it got louder and even sharper. Each rap against the door felt like it was trying to drill through my skull.
I peeled my eyes open and immediately regretted it. The ceiling swam above me, unfocused and too bright, even with the curtains drawn. My sheets clung to my skin, soaked with sweat, and pooled in every crease and hollow.
Another knock came, and it was even more insistent than the last.
"Miss Hazel?"
Laslo’s voice filtered through the wood. I tried to sit up, and the room tilted to the side. My nightgown stuck to my back and thighs, damp and uncomfortable in ways that made my skin crawl.
"Miss Hazel, I hope you can hear me. Alpha Lysander requests your presence in thirty minutes."
I pushed myself upright. The movement sent a wave of heat rolling through my chest. It settled low in my stomach. No. That’s not right. Why did it feel so wrong? My skin prickled. I pressed my palm to my forehead and found it burning.
"He says to be ready for departure to Silvercreek."
The words came through, but they sounded distant. Muffled. Like Laslo was speaking from underwater, not just outside my door. I forced my legs over the side of the bed and stood on shaking knees.
"Miss Hazel?"
"Coming."
My voice came out rougher than intended. I crossed the room in unsteady steps and pulled the door open.
Laslo stood in the hallway with his hands clasped behind his back. He was in the standard sentinel uniform: pressed and perfect, as always. Yet the way the fabric pulled across his shoulders caught my attention. It held me there.
"Alpha Lysander wants you ready in thirty minutes for the trip to Silvercreek." His mouth kept moving, forming words I should have been listening to. "He’s asked that you bring minimal luggage if you want and be prompt. He doesn’t want to delay the—"
My gaze dropped to his hands. The way his fingers curled against his lower back. Veins ran along the backs of them, visible even from where I stood. They traced paths up toward his wrists and disappeared under his sleeves.
"—I suspect he has other dealings—"
His throat moved when he swallowed. The motion drew my eyes up to the column of his neck, where his pulse beat steadily beneath tan skin.
"Miss Hazel?"
I blinked. His face came back into focus. He seemed concerned and completely unaware of where my mind had just gone.
"Are you alright?"
The question landed wrong. Too intimate. Too close. I took a step back and gripped the doorframe for support.
"Yes." The word came out too fast. "I am. Of course I am."

What the fuck was wrong with me?
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