Adrian woke as the first light of pre-dawn began to bleed through the heavy velvet curtains.
His eyes opened, to unfamiliar ceiling. It was coffered wood, dark and polished, reflecting the dim amber glow of a nightlight. He lay perfectly still for several minutes, trying different parts of his body to see which one worked.
His wrists were bound, not with plastic this time. He felt the soft, cool pressure of clean medical bandaging. The skin beneath was tender, pulsing with a dull heat, but the biting pain of the zip-ties was gone. His face felt heavy, the swelling around his eye making his vision lopsided. There was a faint, clinical scent in the air—antiseptic and something herbal, likely a topical treatment for the bruising.
He wasn't in the infirmary. He knew the sterile, white-tiled smell of the estate's medical wing. This room smelled of old paper, cedar, and the faint, lingering trace of Lucian's cologne.
