Page 114 of Bleed

I leave him to clean up and head upstairs, bare feet slapping against the steps and the blood bag swinging lazily from my fingers.

When I enter the lab, Elliott’s seated at the long stainless-steel workbench with his attention fixed on the analyzer– exactly where he’s been every night this week. His dark hair is disheveled like he’s been running his hands through it nonstop, his glasses sitting low on his nose while he studies whatever data is scrolling across the screen.

He looks exhausted.

Well, Elliott’s version of exhausted. Which mostly means his hair isn’t perfect and his resting bitch face has somehow gotten even bitchier.

His head lifts when I enter, brows raising slightly.

“Special delivery!” I announce, strutting toward him with an exaggerated sway of my hips and holding out the pouch in offering.

His eyes drop to it, pupils flaring.

“Extra fresh,” I add with a wink.

He takes it from me without comment and sets it down on the workbench, promptly returning his attention to the analyzer.

That’s it.

No smile, no gratitude.

Barely even a fucking glance.

I heave a sigh, resting an elbow against the workbench and leaning forward just enough to put my tits right in his line of sight.

“Can I tempt you into taking a break?” I ask, dropping my voice to a low, seductive purr.

“No,” he replies without even looking up.

Rude.

“Not even a little one?” I press.

“Beatrix.”

“Bex.” I straighten, pushing away from the workbench with an exaggerated huff. “Fine.”

Clearly, the man would rather stare at blood than appreciate the living, breathing woman standing three feet away from him.

His loss.

I turn and start for the door, making it a whole two steps before something sharp punches into my heel.

“Ow!” I exclaim, pain shooting through my foot as I jerk it off the floor.

Elliott’s chair scrapes behind me. “What happened?”

“I stepped on something.”

He’s beside me before I can even finish the sentence, crouching at my feet. “Let me see.”

“Hold on,” I grit out, bracing a hand on his shoulder as I lift my foot, twisting awkwardly to see the bottom of it.

A thin shard of glass protrudes from my heel, blood welling around it.

Elliott goes unnaturally still as his gaze locks onto the blood. “That must be from the vial you broke,” he murmurs, jaw flexing.

“You missed a piece?”