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I just hated that I wasn’t part of one.
“You and me both.” He held up his glass, and I pretended to clink an invisible one against it.
A few long, comfortable minutes passed.
“If you don’t answer him, he’ll assume you’re injured.”
“I don’t care.” I swiped over the message he’d sent, removing it from the screen. “Screw him.”
“Pretty sure you already did that.”
I scowled at Ethan.
He warned me, “If he assumes you’re injured, he’s going to track you down.”
I opened my mouth to reply—but then my stomach rolled.
“Shit,” I hissed, scrambling out of the booth and sprinting toward the bathroom.
I barely made it to the toilet in time to vomit the contents of my stomach, violently.
And painfully.
“You okay?” Ethan asked from the door.
I just moaned in response.
Yeah, I was sweating too.
A shudder rolled down my spine at the knowledge that this might be the start of the fever…
Again.
I’d thought the days of feeding would buy me more time than this, and despair clutched my chest.
“I’m going to call Morgan,” he told me.
“Axel will kill you,” I groaned.
“Not today.”
A moment of silence passed. Vaguely, I heard him speaking behind me as I puked again.
And again.
And again.
My cheek was pressed to the cold tile of the floor when my best friend’s voice filled the room twenty minutes later. “What the hell did you do?” she demanded.
“Drank blood,” I groaned back.
And then realized she’d been talking to Ethan.
“This one isn’t my fault,” Ethan said. “She came in looking for a meal. I was said meal. Apparently, my blood doesn’t agree with her anymore.
“Dammit.” Morgan huffed, a moment before she kneeled next to me. Her hands were freezing when they brushed my forehead. “Shit, Iris. You’re burning up.”
“Not Ethan’s fault,” I managed.
