Chapter 4 04 Where Am I?

Lyra

I woke in a bed that was not mine. That was the first thing I knew with any certainty. The mattress beneath me was far too soft, the sheets felt too smooth against my skin, and my bedroom had never smelled this clean or expensive. I remained still for several seconds, staring at a cream ceiling while my mind tried and failed to provide a reasonable explanation. My head ached badly. It was not the sharp pain of an injury but the heavy, punishing throb of too much alcohol. My mouth felt dry enough to store sand, and my thoughts moved as though they had to force their way through mud before reaching me.

Even my wolf was sluggish. She stirred inside me with an irritated huff, clearly offended by what I had forced into our body the previous night. A strange Alpha scent surrounded the room, dark and controlled, making her lift her head despite the haze. She did not recognise it or react as if it belonged to a mate. She was simply aware that we had woken somewhere unfamiliar, surrounded by the scent of a powerful male wolf.

That did nothing to improve my headache. I slowly turned my head and examined the bedroom. Grey and cream. Those colours were everywhere. The curtains were grey, the walls were a warmer shade of cream, and the luxurious chairs near the windows had been chosen to match both. The furniture looked custom-made. Everything had a place, and absolutely nothing seemed to have been placed there by accident.

It was expensive. Painfully expensive.

Yet the room told me nothing about the person who owned it. There were no photographs on the walls or bedside tables. No colourful decorations, books left open, clothes thrown over a chair or sentimental objects collected over the years. There was nothing to suggest that an actual person lived there except for the faint masculine scent woven into the sheets.

The room possessed the sort of basic, impersonal luxury found in penthouse advertisements. Everything was beautiful, but none of it had a soul.

Perhaps the owner was as cold and characterless as his bedroom. His? That thought made me sit up too quickly. The room spun. I shut my eyes, pressed one hand against my forehead and waited for the floor to stop trying to trade places with the ceiling.

Where was I? I remembered Eclipse. The music. The blue lights. The sweet Pinot that became easier to drink with every glass. Sienna disappearing with Alpha Lucien Cross and telling me to have fun with his silent, unpleasant friend.

Damon Blackridge. I remembered sitting across from him after Sienna left. I remembered him warning me that I had drunk enough. I remembered deciding to stand for some reason that had apparently seemed important to my intoxicated mind.

Then Damon had caught me when the floor moved beneath my feet. His hand had closed around my arm. The other had settled at my waist as he helped me stand.

After that, there was nothing. No memory of leaving Eclipse. No memory of a car, lift or hallway. Nothing that explained how I had gone from an exclusive nightclub to a strange bed.

I looked around again, hoping the second inspection would somehow reveal Sienna sitting in a corner with an explanation and a bottle of painkillers. The room remained painfully empty. This was not Sienna’s home. Her bedroom had colour, photographs and enough clothes scattered around to supply a small shop. She also lived in a mansion belonging to a feared rogue family, not what appeared to be a luxury penthouse near the top of a skyscraper.

A cold wave of panic moved through me. Fuck. Had I followed a man home? I pushed the sheets away and looked down at myself. I was wearing a man’s T-shirt. A large black T-shirt that definitely did not belong to me. It hung loosely over my body and carried the same dark Alpha scent that surrounded the bed. My wolf became more alert when I touched it, as if she needed to remind me that I was wearing something belonging to an unfamiliar dominant male.

I lifted the hem slightly and immediately dropped it. There was nothing underneath. No underwear. No bra. Nothing but skin and someone else’s shirt.

“Oh, Goddess,” I whispered.

My stomach turned for an entirely different reason from the alcohol. I had been angry and heartbroken after finding Tristan with Chloe. I wanted to drink until I could no longer hear their words in my head. I wanted one night when I did not have to think about the eighteen months Tristan had thrown away.

That did not mean I wanted to have sex with a stranger. The thought made me feel worse. Even if a part of me wanted revenge after the way Tristan treated me, I would never have chosen this. I would not have deliberately drunk until I lost the ability to remember who touched me or what I allowed. I did not want to wake in a strange man’s bed and wonder whether something had happened to my body while my mind had been absent.

My wolf paced weakly beneath my skin, sharing my discomfort. I pulled the sheets around myself and tried to examine my body for signs of what might have happened. I did not feel sore, but I had no idea whether that meant anything. My head hurt, my stomach felt unsettled and every part of me was too focused on panic for a proper assessment.

I needed my clothes. I looked beside the bed first. Nothing.

I leaned over carefully and checked beneath it, half expecting to find my blue dress crumpled on the floor. There was not a single piece of clothing there. The rug was perfectly clean, and the only evidence anyone had occupied the room was the state of the bed.

I searched the chair near the window, the bench at the foot of the bed and the small sitting area. Nothing.

My dress had vanished. Please do not tell me someone ripped it. The dress had been thin, and Sienna had insisted I wear it because she said my usual clothes made me look like I was attending a respectable office dinner. I had nearly changed before we left, but she refused to let me.

It had been expensive too. At least, expensive by my standards.

I had saved for weeks to buy it after Tristan complained that I dressed too cheaply whenever we went out with his wealthy friends. He never said the exact words at first. He would simply examine my outfit, ask if I had anything else or offer to have someone purchase something more appropriate for me.

Eventually, he stopped pretending his concern was for my comfort. The dress was supposed to prove I could look like I belonged beside him. I had planned to wear it on our next special date, but that date would never happen now.

The painful lump returned to my chest. I had lost Tristan yesterday. Had I lost the dress I bought partly to please him on the same night?

Perhaps the universe was clearing out everything connected to him in one humiliating sweep. I moved towards what looked like a wardrobe and opened it cautiously. Inside were rows of men’s suits, shirts and trousers arranged with irritating precision. Everything was dark, expensive and much larger than anything Tristan wore.

No blue dress. I checked another section and found more masculine clothing, shoes and watches. There were no women’s things anywhere. No dress, no purse and no underwear.

“Perfect,” I muttered. “This is absolutely perfect.”

I returned to the bedroom and searched for a photograph, an envelope or anything carrying a name. Perhaps I could identify the man whose wardrobe I had just invaded before he appeared and found me half-naked.

Nothing. Who lived in a place without photographs? Even hotel rooms sometimes had paintings that looked vaguely personal. This bedroom had been stripped of every clue. The man who lived here clearly had money but no interest in proving he possessed a life outside work.

I considered returning to bed and hiding beneath the sheets until someone found me. Unfortunately, my thirst was becoming painful, and my tongue felt as though it had doubled in size.

Water first. Escape second. Emotional collapse later.