It was dark and pleasant where I was lying, and nothing hurt. Except the back of my head. And my spine. And my ribs. On second thought, pretty much everything fucking hurt. What the hell? I opened my eyes and he was there above me, shaking me like a British nanny. “Get up! Up, goddammit! We have to get out of here!” “We have to … what?” “Out of here, now,” he added for emphasis—and then he yanked me up off the ground in one smooth move that underscored how badly I had gotten hurt when I’d thrown myself from the roof. I yelped, and he yanked again. “This is no time for you to require babying,” he said and I tripped behind him in the dark, trying to get my thoughts together and my body upright of its own accord. Both tasks at once were more than I could swing with any real grace. My legs alternately buckled beneath me and wobbled forward behind Adrian, who towed me through the darkness with considerably more confidence and determination than I, personally, possessed.
