Though certain parts weren't blurry enough. She remembered some moments with perfect clarity, like the sight of Troy's chest, broad and hard above her. His roar of climax, forceful enough to shake the bed. The pressure of his knot swelling inside her, pushing her past the point of reason every time.
These memories inflamed her passion and drove her right back into Troy's arms, even as she wondered if she had lost all sense of reason.
At first, Faith had tried to delude herself into thinking that it was all dream—a nightmare, even—but the details were too exquisitely sharp to be denied. And there was further proof in the way her body felt.
There was no way a dream could cause the ache in her body from contorting itself to accommodate her alpha, or the bone-deep weariness from writhing and grinding for countless hours at a time.
A part of Faith wished she could simply roll over and return to that fog. Not because it gave her pleasure, but because the nothingness let her put off facing what she'd done.
What she'd become.
You're just like your sister.
Troy's voice echoed in her head. The memory of his words was what finally jarred her back to the land of the living.
Faith opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling. She didn't need to look around the room to know where she was—or whose bed she was in.
Or what she had done in that bed.
She might as well have been floating on a sea of regret. The only thing that helped even a little was that she was alone. She didn't know where Troy had gone, and for the moment at least, she didn't care.
Shame more potent than anything Faith had ever felt in her life swept through her, making her want to disappear. She hadn't just lain with an alpha; she'd actively welcomed him inside her. Begged him to fill her completely.
She'd bucked her hips and clawed at his back with her fingers, shouted his name, and urged him on.
She'd been wanton. She'd behaved like a harlot.
Faith couldn't ignore the truth any longer. She'd become an omega.
Hot tears spilled from the corners of her eyes down the side of her face, falling softly on her pillow. She cried quietly without making a sound.
She didn't have the energy to do more than lie there and silently grieve the life that was forever gone. The life in which she was still her mother's good girl. In which she was pure for her husband and pious in the eyes of God.
Faith didn't know what she was going to do now. All she knew was that she couldn't go back home.
The church would never allow her back into the fold after what she'd done—after what she'd become.
And even if by some miracle they did, Faith knew for a fact her parents never would. She'd seen with her own eyes what they'd done to Hope—disowning her, denying her, keeping her from her siblings.
No doubt, they'd already done the same to her. There was no reason to believe they hadn't already told the whole community that she was dead.
Just like Hope.
A part of Faith had hoped that returning with the prodigal daughter would somehow prove how good and devout she really was, but now she realized what a fool she'd been.
Faith hadn't survived a single night in the lion's den as Daniel had done. She'd caved to sin at the beast's first touch and been swallowed whole.
Maybe she should just get up, walk naked into the snow, and let the cold seep into her bones until she could feel nothing. She could end all of this pain and never have to face the shame of it.
But a little voice inside her fought back.
You didn't come here to give up, it said. You came here to help Hope. You shouldn't have to apologize for that.
This voice was vaguely familiar, but in the past, it had always been drowned out by the more powerful voices of her church, her parents, her own self-judgment. Still, it had been there, refusing the let Faith completely believe that she was worthless.
And if the voice believed in her…then maybe there was still a chance. Maybe Faith hadn't ruined everything in one single, sinful night.
Maybe, just maybe, she could fight like hell for redemption. She could prove that she knew right from wrong, that she was stronger than the urges that had tempted her, stronger than the beast who'd seduced her.
Her family and her church might never take her back, but God might still forgive her.
That thought gave Faith all the strength she needed. She threw back the blankets—only flinching a little at her nakedness—and got out of bed.
Her legs shook with pain and exhaustion and her knees buckled, but she forced herself to stand. After all, if Hope had found the courage to survive this life for the last few months, then Faith could dig deep and find enough strength to do what she'd come here for, and get back to searching for her sister.
It took Faith a long time to find her discarded dress, crumpled and tossed in a corner. When she shook it out, she was horrified to discover that it was wrinkled and stained with dried slick.
She took a breath and forced herself to be grateful that at least it was whole and serviceable. It would do for now. The last thing Faith wanted was to add the sin of vanity to her long list of wicked deeds.
She slipped the soiled dress over her head, only wincing a little at the soreness that had infused all her muscles. It seemed the work of the devil had a price, after all.
But it was one she could push through and endure.
Especially for Hope's sake.
Which was good, because Faith had a feeling she was going to need every bit of her strength.
She opened the bedroom door and inched her way into the main room of the cabin. She'd noticed almost nothing when Troy carried her through on the
