Blanche's POV
I was still battling the flu's grip, my body burning like I'd been trapped in a furnace.
Zain's rich, hypnotic voice cutting through the haze sent sparks racing down my backbone.
Barely conscious, I fought to pry my eyes open, clawing my way back from the dream's edge.
'I was just dreaming about Vincent—so why is Zain's voice in my head?' I wondered, disoriented.
When my vision cleared on the silhouette hovering over me, I jerked back in shock. I tried to scramble away, but Zain had planted his hands on both sides, trapping me completely.
Through the pale window light, I could barely read Zain's face. His forehead creased slightly, his stare boring into me with unsettling intensity.
"Zain, move. What the hell are you doing?" I said.
My voice came out scratchy and foreign—I barely recognized it myself.
I pressed my palms against his chest, desperate to create distance between us.
