I could hear Pressly on the phone, more than likely talking to Beckett. I tried to plead with her, but it was no use. My mouth wouldn’t work. Feeling exhausted, I sank against Sloane. A moment later, the narrow frame of my vision closed completely, plunging me into darkness.
Text Messagefrom Xan Carson to Lacey Donovan
Xan Carson [10:55pm]: LACEY! ru ok?
Xan Carson [10:57pm]: Wtf?
Xan Carson [10:59pm]: Plz answer me!!!!
Xan Carson [11:08pm]: Obvs u don’t want 2 talk 2 me????
Xan Carson [11:22pm]: Can u plz talk 2 me????
Xan Carson [11:56pm]: Call me ASAP!!!!
Xan Carson [11:56pm]: Plz!!!
Chapter 12
A persistent ringing brought me back to life. Groaning, I cracked my eyes open only to shut them again. Sunlight scorched the backs of my eyes and my throat burned when I breathed. The ringing noise sounded again, and I realized it was in my head. It was loud enough to split my ears apart. I gritted my teeth, trying not to move.
I was lying on something firm, and I knew it wasn’t the soft mattress in my apartment. Confusion fogged my brain.
Something wet tickled my cheek, so I opened my eyes and saw a furry snout in my face.
Aslan.
I must be at Pressly’s place. Beckett’s.
Patchy memories came back to me through the fog in my brain. I remembered the cold air in my lungs, the twinkling lights of the vineyard. Then, nothing.
Frustration settled over me as I searched for more memories and found them missing. Last night was a blank page. The harder I tried to focus on remembering, the more elusive the memories became.
I glanced around the room, hoping something would ring a bell, but I recognized nothing. The furniture was oversized but minimal. Shades closed over the windows, shrouding the room in darkness. I pushed the sheets down to see that I was wearing a baggy T-shirt and a pair of pink sweatpants. I didn’t own a pair of pink sweatpants.
My stomach churned and my head spun. I pushed up from the bed and leaned on the nightstand for support. My hand landed on something cold and metallic. A pair of glasses. Rectangular, black-framed glasses. Beckett’s glasses. Under the glasses was a copy ofBeneath the Stars.Mycopy ofBeneath the Stars.
I was in Beckett’s room.
I groped my way along the wall until I reached the open doorway. Nausea warred inside me as I stumbled into the bathroom to the toilet. Every movement hurt. Every muscle ached.
Last night’s memories had disappeared into a black hole of nothingness. The last thing I could remember was Sloane wrapping her arms around me as I sank to the stone walkway.
I used the counter to pull myself up and looked in the mirror. A hideous creature confronted me. With its wild hair, black-rimmed eyes, and ghostly pale skin, the thing looked like it had crawled out of a swamp.
I gasped, realizing the creature was me. My knees gave way, and I sank to the tile. Tears sprang to my eyes, and a sob ripped from my throat. I wrapped my arms around my knees and hugged them close, desperately wishing I could remember what had happened last night.
This was much worse than any hangover I’d ever had. I’d had some crazy nights, but I’d never forgotten whole chunks of time.
My stomach rolled and I crawled toward the toilet. I retched, but I had nothing left in my stomach. My throat burned with bile.
I figured it was safer to stay put in the bathroom than try to make it back to the bed. The last thing I wanted was to vomit on Beckett’s thousand-thread-count sheets. I curled into a ball and rested my hot cheek on the tile.
The click of nails on the tile warned me of Aslan’s approach a moment before he nudged his face against my shoulder. He circled me, then lay down against the hollow of my belly. I put my arm around his back and closed my eyes.
Strong arms wrapped around me.Hard muscles flexed and lifted me from the floor.
“You awake?”
