Page 125 of Revenant

I roll my eyes, ready for them to get lost. It’s my last night with her and I plan to make every second count now that this is all out in the open.

39: Alicent

A faint run of something wet slithers down my thigh as I roll over into the sheets that smell of amber and vanilla. I ignore it at first, until another trickle makes its way farther. My eyes spring open, and I shoot up in bed to look between my legs.

A spot of crimson is blooming on the new pristine white sheets of Pryce’s bed.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I freeze for a second, if I stay still maybe the stain won’t spread, which is obviously not how physics works, but my brain is running days behind my body since the wolf attack, and it takes a solid beat before I remember I can, in fact, get up.

I peel myself off the mattress at roughly the speed of someone diffusing a bomb, and the second I’m upright the cramp hits—a twist in my pelvis that makes me grab the bedpost with one hand.

Love this for me.

I glance down at the sheets, then at my thighs, and do a fast audit of the damage. It’s not catastrophic, but these sheets are made of some obscene thread count that I know I could never afford to replace.

I’m seconds into mentally preparing an apology when the door clicks open behind me.

“Tesoro, breakfast is—”

I keep my eyes pinned firmly on the crime scene I have committed. “Don’t come in.”

I hear him stop halfway through the doorway, take exactly one breath through his nose, and then I hear the small undignified sound of Pryce Visconti trying not to laugh.

“I’m going to kill you.”

“You’re not going to kill me.” He chuckles, taking a step closer. “Sei adorabile quando sei arrabbiata.”

“I am one hundred percent going to kill you.”

“Tesoro,” he says, and the amusement has not left his voice in the slightest. “Turn around.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

I hear him set something down on the dresser—a tray, probably, because he’s Pryce and most likely made me breakfast, and he doesn’t mean some measly granola bar—and then crosses the room, his hand settling on my waist from behind.

“I ruined your sheets. I wasn’t supposed to start for another week.”

“Tesoro, I have more sheets.”

“But they’re white, Pryce. I–I’m sorry.”

“Vabbè, now they’re a little red.” He presses a kiss into my hair. “Which you know is my favorite color.”

My cramps pick that exact second to twist again, harder this time, and whatever flippant thing I was going to say dies in my throat and comes out a strangled noise.

I double over into his hold, and without a second thought, he’s lifting me and carrying me toward his bathroom.

“I can walk.”

“I’m aware.”