Snatching her phone off the nightstand, she answered. “What did you do?” Moreen’s voice cut through the speaker before Ivy could say a word. Gaping, she struggled to form a response. “Ivy,” Moreen hissed. “What did you do?” “I—” She swallowed. “What do you mean?” “What do you think I mean? I’m calling you, Ivy. Calling you. I’m awake, and ambulatory, and I’ve been so since an insanely gorgeous man strolled into my house at three in the morning, put his hand on my head, and fecking healed me!” Ivy furrowed her brow. “He put his hand on your head? That’s a bit weird.”
