Processing things at one

My legs felt like wobbly jelly, the kind that hasn't set properly yet. Pushing back the stiff hospital sheets, I planted my feet on the cold floor, a shiver running straight up my spine. Standing up seemed like a really big project, but lying there feeling sorry for myself was getting boring. I had to figure out where I was, and why everyone had… extra parts.

I’d just managed to get my balance, clutching the metal bedframe for dear life, when the door to my room swung open with a soft whoosh.

And then I saw him.

Oh. Wow.

My slow brain, which usually processed things at the speed of a sleepy turtle, suddenly decided to work in high-definition, ultra-fast motion.

He was… the most beautiful person I had ever seen. Tall, with shoulders that looked like they could carry the world, and hair the color of dark chocolate that fell in soft waves around a face that belonged in a museum. His eyes were a sharp, piercing amber, and they were currently narrowed right at me.

But my brain, doing its thing, snagged on the details. On top of his head, nestled in that gorgeous hair, were two triangular, furred ears. They were twitching, pinned back flat against his skull. And behind him, swishing with an agitated, powerful flick, was a bushy, gray-and-white wolf’s tail.

A wolf.

A handsome, angry wolf-man was in my hospital room.

My mouth, which had been hanging open, didn’t seem to want to close.

He strode into the room, his movements all coiled grace and clear irritation. The air around him seemed to crackle.

“Finally awake, I see,” he said, his voice a low, rumbling growl that vibrated right through my jelly-legs. He stopped a few feet from me, crossing his arms over his broad chest. His fluffy tail gave another sharp, annoyed lash.

“What were you thinking, Elijah? Drinking poison? Was it truly so unbearable?”

I just blinked, my grip tightening on the bedframe.

Poison? I drank peach water. Leo’s prank. That wasn't poison... was it?

“I… it was… lemonade?”

I managed to whisper, my voice squeaking worse than Nurse Millie’s.

His amber eyes flashed, and a low, frustrated sound rumbled in his chest. It was almost a growl.

“Do not play the fool with me. We have an agreement. A contract. If you no longer desire this marriage, you simply needed to say the words. We could have arranged a quiet dissolution. There was no need for this… this dramatic, foolish attempt on your own life!”

Each word hit me like a physical blow, leaving me more dazed and confused than before.

Marriage? Contract? Divorce?

My thoughts, slow and muddy, tried to wade through this new information. In my old life, nobody liked me. Not like that.

People would sometimes pat my head and say, “He’s a bit slow, but so cute,” and that was it.

That was the peak of my romantic prospects. I was single. Very, very single. The idea of me being married to anyone, let alone someone who looked like a grumpy prince from a fairy tale—a wolf fairy tale—was the funniest, most impossible thing I had ever heard.

“But…” I started, my brow furrowing in concentration. This was a lot of thinking for one day.

“I’m… I’m not married. Nobody… nobody wants to marry me. I’m dense.” I said it plainly, like it was a simple fact.

The sky is blue, grass is green, and Elijah Cassian is too slow to get a husband.

The man’s stern expression faltered for a fraction of a second, his wolf ears twitching forward as if to catch my words better.

He studied my face, my probably-dopey, utterly bewildered expression, and some of the anger seemed to drain from his posture, replaced by a wary confusion.

“Elijah,” he said, his voice quieter, though the growly undertone was still there.

“What are you talking about? We’ve been married for six months.”

Six months.

I stared at him, at his handsome, annoyed face, his fluffy wolf ears, his swishing tail. I remembered the taste of blood, my mother’s scream, the spinning ceiling.

And a terrifying, dizzying thought finally broke through the fog in my mind.

This wasn’t my body.

This wasn’t my life.

The idiot Elijah Cassian had died on a white rug.

And he—whoever he was—had woken up in a world of mouse-nurses and a husband who was a very, very cross wolf.

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