Page 364 of Primal

I let go of her wrist. Stagger off her.

Her hands flutter around the hilt, not quite pulling it out.

Rain beats down. Blood bubbles at her lips. “P … guess we”—a wet cough. She smiles. Or tries to—“no matching tattoos.”

Kristy.

I lurch toward her, crying so hard I can barely see. “Kristy …”

She’s propped up against a tree, clutching her stomach. Blood. Too much blood. On her crop top, neon shorts, everywhere.

“Hey. Hey, stay with me.” I drop to my knees, wrap my arms around her. “You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna get you help.”

Her eyes find mine, glassy, unfocused. “Is the Uber here yet?” she mumbles. “It’s freezing.”

My throat closes. “Kristy—”

“I want a hot bath,” she whispers. “And spring rolls. The good kind. From that place off-campus. Remember?”

I bob my head, sobbing. “Yeah. Pad kee mao and spring rolls.”

“We should do a movie night again.” A soft, broken laugh. “Remember when Lana wore heels to your dorm and bitched the whole walk over? Tell her no heels this time.”

I nod, holding Kristy tighter. “I’ll tell her.”

“Is it … Sunday? ’Cause I swear I still have that poli-sci paper due.”

I choke on a breath. “No, babe, it’s not finals week.”

She smiles faintly. “Good. Then we can stay up all night and do shots.”

I press my forehead to hers. “Anything you want.”

“I-it’s … so cold,” she murmurs. “Think I’ll nap for a sec.”

“No. No—Kristy, you can’t. Stay with me. Stay with me. Please—”

Her fingers brush my cheek.

Then her hand falls.

And I’m wailing into the storm, clutching the body of the girl who used to braid my hair after bad dates, knew how I took my coffee, promised we’d grow old and adopt a cat together if we were still single by fifty.

“Kristy, no. Wake up. Wake up. Kristy … please, wake up.”

My chest heaves. I glance at Lana.

Motionless too.

Gone.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Abullet to the stomach is a bitch.

Doesn’t hurt all at once. Just heat blooming—then boiling water over my insides.

Left shoulder’s dead. Right palm split open.