William woke up on Letesia's couch, wrapped in a heavy wool blanket that smelled faintly of someone else's skin and incense smoke. His body ached as if a cavalry regiment had marched back and forth over him, and his mouth was painfully dry — his tongue rough, stuck to the roof of his mouth. He coughed, swallowed the dryness, and forced himself up on his elbows.
The trailer was silent. No sign of Letesia or Milagros. Only the dull drumming somewhere deep in his head — right at the crown, where memory had been sliced open and left blank. He blinked, trying to pull scraps of the night back together, but everything dissolved into darkness.
The last thing he remembered was the dancing firelight in the woods, Letesia's raspy whisper, the smell of wet leaves — and blood.
Oh, hell… blood.
He ran his tongue over his lips; the faint metallic taste told him enough.
"So we did find someone, after all," he muttered hoarsely. "Or maybe someone found us."
