Page 118 of Bleed

“He almost fucking killed you, Bex,” she snaps, her voice cracking through the room like a whip.

I stare at her, a little caught off guard by the sheer fury in her tone. Taylor’s usually the calm one; the rational one. I’m the resident pop-off queen.

If she’s this rattled, I must’ve scared the absolute shit out of her.

“As far as I’m concerned,” she continues, drawing in a slow breath through her nose, “that asshole can stay far, far away from you for the rest of his immortal fucking life.”

I barely hear the second half, because another memory has pushed its way to the front of my mind.

The shard of glass. Red streaking across its surface, light blooming…

“But it glowed,” I whisper.

Taylor’s brow furrows. “What?”

I swallow, wincing at the soreness in my throat. “It glowed.”

She just stares at me, brows pinching in confusion.

I reach for the water again, and she hands it over reluctantly. My fingers feel clumsy around the glass, so I grip it with both hands, taking several slow sips before lowering it to my lap.

“I cut my foot,” I explain, my thoughts still sluggish as I try to put the hazy memories in order. “There was a piece of glass on the floor from a vial I broke in the lab. Elliott was pulling it out, and it cut through his glove. His blood got on the glass with mine, and when it mixed together…”

Taylor goes very, very still, barely even breathing.

“It glowed,” I repeat.

“Are you saying…?” She hesitates, like she’s afraid to even put the thought into words. “You and Elliott are bonded?”

A strange pressure builds beneath my ribs. “I think so.”

She blinks at me, then slowly sinks back into her chair. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

Her gaze drifts toward the window as she processes that, her thumb brushing gently over the massive diamond ring on her finger before her attention returns to me. “Are you sure?”

“No.” I drag a hand over my face. “I was a little distracted by him trying to drain me like a juice box immediately afterward.”

Her mouth flattens, the reminder instantly souring whatever awe she might’ve had over the revelation.

“Sorry,” I mutter.

She narrows her eyes. “Not funny yet.”

I fight a smile, lifting one shoulder. “Little funny.”

“Bex.”

A sigh escapes me as my head falls back against the pillows. “I don’t even know if it’s real,” I admit. “We both saw it, though. His blood mixed with mine, and it reacted exactly like yours and James’ did.”

Taylor stares at me, seemingly at a loss for words.

This would normally be the point where Elliott starts rattling off twelve possible explanations– half of which I don’t understand– before disappearing into the lab to test every single one.

That strange pressure returns beneath my ribs, tightening another notch.

Elliott.