"You just killed someone." My voice is high. Desperate.
"He was going to kill you."
"So, you call the cops!"
"I don't deal with cops." His voice is matter of fact. Like we're discussing the weather, not murder.
I pale. I can feel the color draining from my face. "What are you?"
"It doesn't matter right now. What matters is getting you somewhere safe?—"
That's when I feel it.
Different from the blood on my skin. Different from the nausea in my stomach.
Wetness between my legs. It feels wrong. Tacky and sticky as it slides down my leg.
I look down, and I see thick, vicious blood sliding down my thighs. It's different from the arterial blood that sprayed across me.
This blood is mine.
I cramp so hard that I double over.
"I think—" My voice breaks. "I think something's wrong."
Adrian follows my gaze. Sees the blood dripping down my leg, soaking through my jeans. Pooling on the concrete.
His face changes. Not panic. But something close to it.
"Where are you hurt?" His hands are on me again, checking, searching for wounds.
"I don't know." A cramp hits. Sharp. Wrong. Like my body is trying to tear itself apart. "He slammed me against the wall. Maybe he?—"
Adrian's jaw tightens. "We're going to a doctor."
"I can't afford?—"
"My doctor. Now." He's already moving, scooping me up like I weigh nothing.
I want to fight, but another cramp hits, stealing my breath and my words, and I have no choice but to allow Adrian to take care of me.
Because something is wrong. Very wrong.
Adrian places me in the passenger seat of his car. It's black, expensive, and I feel bad about ruining the expensive leather. Not that he seems to care.
The engine purrs to life. We're moving.
I'm leaving a crime scene with the man who committed the crime, and yet, I couldn't care less, because another gut-wrenching cramp is slamming through me.
"How did you find me?" I manage.
His jaw tightens. "Later."
"Did you follow me from work?"
"Later, Seraphina."
Before I can push, he's pulling out his phone, calling someone.
