I woke to the low murmur of male voices and the heavy scent of alphas still clinging to my sheets.

My body ached in the best and worst ways. Between my thighs I was sore and sticky, the evidence of last night still coating my skin. Four distinct bite marks—none deep enough to claim, but hard enough to bruise—throbbed along my neck and the tops of my breasts. Every time I shifted, the memory of their hands and mouths and knots flooded back so vividly my stomach clenched.

Cassian stood at the foot of the bed, already dressed in dark jeans and an open shirt, watching me with that same...