Page 107

“No,” he rasped.

“No what?”

“Don’t sound scared.”

My laugh broke. “I am scared, you absolute psychopath.”

His fingers tightened once, then loosened.

“Don’t be.”

“You’re bleeding on me.”

“I’ve been worse.”

“That’s not the comfort you think it is.”

His head tipped sideways.

Too far.

“No. Hey.” Panic shot through me. “Stay with me.”

“Talk,” the voice ordered. “Irritate him.”

“Well, that’s easy.”

My gaze locked on the mask. The stupid, awful mask. He was bleeding through my blanket and still hiding behind it like secrecy mattered more than breathing.

I reached for the edge. His hand caught my wrist so fast my head spun. One second limp, the next, steel. He shook his head. No.

“Okay,” I whispered. “I won’t. I won’t take it off.”

His grip held for one long second, shaking with the effort. Then his fingers fell away.

The building fever under my skin flared so hard I nearly made a sound. Something was wrong with me. Something had been wrong since he touched me.

His fingers brushed mine again, barely there.

“Window?” he rasped.

“What?”

“You left it unlocked.”

Of course he noticed.

“You were supposed to use it four days ago.”

His mouth curved. “I was busy.”

“You could have texted.”

“I don’t have your number.”

“You have cameras in my apartment. Twenty bucks says you also already have my number.”

A faint sound left him.