The darkness was heavy, suffocating, and completely silent.
For three days, Rowan had been trapped in a deep, dreamless void. His mind had been locked away, fighting to heal the severe trauma inflicted by the splintering wood of the falling carriage.
Then, slowly, like a swimmer fighting to reach the surface of a dark lake, sensation began to return.
First, he felt the dull, throbbing ache pulsing violently against the side of his skull. Second, he felt the soft, clean linen sheets resting against his bare chest. Finally, he became aware of a profound, desperate thirst burning in his throat.
A few minutes after Delaney left the room, Rowan woke up.
He did not open his eyes immediately. The effort seemed too great. He let out a low, rough groan that scraped painfully against his dry throat. He shifted his heavy shoulders against the mattress, his muscles stiff and protesting the movement.
