Nora's POV
James's voice cuts through the chaos in my mind like a blade. Those three words refuse to leave my head, circling endlessly as I stand frozen in this cramped office behind the trendy bar. My vision wavers, and nausea rolls through me in sickening waves. Blood has never affected me this way before, yet watching crimson liquid trail down James's torso makes the world tilt sideways.
He stumbles backward across the paint-splattered concrete floor, his movements unsteady as he leans against the cluttered desk. His palm presses desperately against his abdomen, but blood continues flowing between his fingers, soaking through the destroyed fabric of his shirt.
This cannot be real.
James is vampire royalty.
Vampires regenerate.
But what if that protester's blade carried some kind of curse? Even my own enchanted dagger has never caused damage like this. Sure, it inflicts agony and slows supernatural healing, but nothing approaching this nightmare.
