#Chapter 38: The Morning After

Elara The sound of the shower woke me first, followed by the pounding ache in my skull. I squinted against the pale morning light filtering through the curtains, trying to piece together the fragmented memories of last night. The kitchen. The wine. Alaric standing there, silent and stoic, as I did… what, exactly? My face burned as snippets of the night rushed back to me like a flood of regrets—grabbing his shirt, touching his ass, forcing a smile onto his face and… “Oh, Goddess…” My groan was muffled as I buried my face in my hands, hoping that somehow the bed would swallow me whole. “It was just a dream,” I whispered to myself, but of course I knew it wasn’t. My headache, the faint taste of wine still lingering on my tongue, and the fact that I was now in my bed, in my pajamas, when I distinctly remembered falling asleep in the kitchen, all pointed to one horrifying truth. Alaric had carried me to bed. The shower stopped, and my heart le