A Hangover of Guilt and Shame

ROMAN

I woke to a splitting headache that felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to my skull. The morning light streaming through the partially open curtains was an assault on my senses. I groaned and threw an arm over my eyes, trying to piece together the previous night.

Pack meeting. Mounting tensions. Bourbon—lots of bourbon. After that, everything became a blur.

As I shifted, trying to find relief from the pounding in my head, I felt something—no, someone—move beside me. My body went rigid. A familiar scent hit my nostrils, and dread pooled in my stomach.

"Good morning, Roman." Seraphina's silky voice cut through the silence.

I bolted upright, ignoring the way my head protested the sudden movement. Seraphina lay there, her blonde hair splayed across my pillow, wearing nothing but one of my shirts.

"What the hell are you doing here?" My voice came out rough, a mixture of sleep and horror.