Lyra awoke with a gasp, her body drenched in sweat that soaked through the fine linen of the bed. Disorientation gripped her as she struggled to make sense of the unfamiliar surroundings—the high ceiling with its ornate wooden beams, the heavy furniture carved with the Blackwood crest, the massive hearth where embers still glowed. But these observations fled her mind almost instantly, chased away by the unbearable heat consuming her from inside and the sharp, lancing pains that tore through her abdomen like claws.
At that moment, all she could focus on was how her body felt and the male musk that intoxicated her.
"Water," she croaked, her throat parched and raw.
She spotted a golden goblet on the bedside table and lunged for it desperately. Her fingers trembled as she raised it to her lips, but the cool liquid brought no relief. It felt like pouring water onto scorching coals; it instantly evaporated against the inferno raging inside her.
