Bella's POV
My legs had turned to jelly, but we couldn't remain here any longer.
"We need to get out of here, Fiona," I whispered, my voice trembling as violently as my shaking hands.
She remained motionless, her gaze fixed on Quentin's bound form sprawled across the floor. He lay completely still. His head was angled unnaturally, dark spots of blood marking the spot where she had struck him. The sight made bile rise in my throat, but terror overpowered the nausea.
"Fiona," I repeated, this time with more authority. "He's still breathing. We have to move before he regains consciousness."
Finally, she turned toward me, her eyes enormous with shock, her breathing rapid and shallow. I could understand her paralysis. Despite everything, Quentin was still her flesh and blood.
"I never intended to strike him so forcefully," she whispered.
Her words broke apart, heavy with disbelief and horror.
"I understand. But if he comes to, we're finished. Let's go."
