Every inch of my body ached, and at first, I couldn’t remember why, and then I looked around and realized where I was. Oh motherfucking hell. No, no…it wasn’t real… But as I pushed back the covers and saw the healing scars on my leg, I knew that I hadn’t imagined anything. The wounds were raked into my skin, scabbing over, and there didn’t seem to be any infection. The muscles had knit quickly, but my leg was stiff and sore. I tried to focus on the mundane, tried to ignore what I knew I’d have to face sooner or later, because the longer I put it off, the longer I could avoid facing the ramifications of what had happened. Images kept breaking through—Lannan’s face, the feel of him holding me down, the feel of…I moaned, grabbing a pillow and hiding my face in it. What the hell was I going to do now? And now, would he ever leave me alone? And how would I face Grieve? In the cold light of day…Well—I wasn’t sure if it was morning or not, but now that I was out of the grip of the Blood Fever, I could think clearly, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
