The blue bedside clock, vaporized by Strom, had been replaced by a singing chicken alarm clock. Someone was really trying to piss her off, probably Finn. That was her first task. When she was vertical again, she was going to kill Finn. Bearing in mind that it was eight p.m., the apartment was eerily quiet. She tried to lift her head from the pillow and found that she couldn’t. The memories hit her like blows from a hammer—Barbara’s dead body, Raoul’s fist as he struck her and the smell of burning flesh. Then she screamed. They surrounded the bed in less than thirty seconds. Four gorgeous guys, all looking as if they cared about her. Finn was crying, and even Pete, the shyest of them, kissed her on the cheek and welcomed her home. Strom hung back until the others left. “What happened to me? I was…” “Shhh.” The viking stroked her face. “I thought I told you not to Shhh me.” The viking managed a weak smile. “I’ll leave you to get some rest.” “No,” she protested.
