Selene slept poorly that night.
Not because of pain—Alistair had seen to that. The wound on her wrist was nothing more than a faint silver line, already fading like a half-forgotten dream. No, it was the memory that kept her awake. The way his breath had brushed her skin. The deliberate slowness of his bite. The way his fingers had tightened when she nearly collapsed.
It was punishment.
But it was also something else.
She rolled onto her side, staring at the dark curtains swaying gently with the night breeze. Caroline lay in the other bed, awake as well. Selene could tell by the way her breathing was too steady, too controlled.
"You're still awake," Selene whispered.
"Yes."
Silence stretched between them.
"He scared you," Caroline finally said.
Selene snorted softly. "He always scares me."
"That was different."
Selene hesitated. "I know."
Caroline turned onto her side, facing her. "You must stop provoking him."
