Sorry this chapter is an hour late--I had a weird glitch happening (screenshot at the end).

Has anyone noticed the ranking is all weird today too? And how there are so many new stories popping up in the top 10 list for werewolf that I've never heard of!!!??? Like "My Borther's My Mate?" <---who came up with that?!?! and is it weird that I totally want to read it?!?!

This chapter is dedicated to vvolkzki, whose username I think means wolf in another language? Maybe Polish? idk I'm just guessing.  

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I wake up to the sun gently warming my face. I brace myself for the pain I've gotten used to, followed by Logan forcing more of that vile medicine down my throat, but I actually feel fine. I wiggle my fingers and toes, then move my arms and legs, until I look like I'm making snow angels.

"Good morning," an very amused voice makes me yelp.

"Luna?" I sit up quickly and pull up the blankets to my chin.

"I'm glad to see you're feeling better." She smiles warmly, but there's a twinkle in her eye.

"Thanks." I smile, trying to remember what happened. I have a vague recollection of lying in a hospital bed, but when I glance around, I find myself back in my room instead—or one of my rooms, anyway. It's not the one back home at Dad's, obviously, or the one I shared with Zara. This room is the one POW moved me to, up on the fourth floor. 

Luna's pulled up a chair next to my bed, and she's holding a romance novel—one that has a shirtless guy and a girl in a flimsy nightgown on the cover. The guy has his muscular arms wrapped around her, and she looks enraptured. I'm not even sure what that word means, exactly, except that it describes the cover perfectly.

Luna catches me looking, and my cheeks turn red, but Luna doesn't seem the least bit embarrassed. She even places the novel on the nightstand with the cover facing up for everyone to see. I only stare at it for a second, though, before I notice the other item on the nightstand.

"Mom's painting." I gasp, picking it up and gently placing it on my lap.

"I thought you might want to see it when you woke up." Luna gives me a warm smile. "It's gorgeous. Did your Mom paint it?"

"Yeah." I stare down at the smooth strokes of pale purple on canvas.

"It's a Saffron flower, isn't it?" Luna prompts.

"It was Mom's favorite." I feel a wave of nostalgia. "She used to paint all the time when I was little. Her art was all over the house—flowers, trees, wolves... oh, they were so beautiful. But after she died, Dad..." my voice breaks. "This is the only painting of hers I have left."

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