My initial assumption was correct― Rowan's bed was infinitely more comfortable than the single bed that was in the room they had built for me.
It was a king-sized bed, accompanied by plush pillows and a silky soft duvet. If this were any other time, and if it were any other person's bed, I might've slept like a baby until dawn.
Unfortunately, this bed belonged to none other than Rowan Hadeon, the man whose mark was now on my neck. Perhaps it was due to the mark, but his scent was everywhere in the room. Without a window to air it out, I was cooped in this chamber, forced to breathe it in lest I choke to death.
If we were normal fated mates, this wouldn't have been a problem. After all, as rumors go, the scent between fated mates can be soothing or even therapeutic. However, for me, it was nothing short of torture.
