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“Oh my gosh.” I quicken over and drop to his side, jerking his body. “Brandon?”
Low moans respond to me.
Relief seeps in.
It’s not until I feel a presence drawing close that I remind myself someone did this to him.
I spring to my feet with the sculptor, but the swift prick at my neck from what feels like a needle proves it’s too late.
“Ugh!” I still attempt swinging the sculptor at the dark figure. But my limbs are rapidly becoming limp. I slither to the rug, head woozy. “What the…hell…who are you?”
“Shh. Sleep now,” the soft yet sinister female voice implores.
I slump over, lids heavy, and as darkness pulls me under, I try to recall where I’d heard the voice before.
