Chapter 7: The Ice Test

"I'm checking her pulse," Vincent said.

He did not stand up fast. He did not step back.

He sat with two fingers on my wrist and kept his voice flat and tired.

"At midnight," Dominik said.

"She was hot at dinner. She was breathing wrong. I'm a paramedic, Dom. That's what I do."

"With the door unlocked."

"Felix was watching the stairs."

"Felix was sitting on them," Dominik said.

I lay still with my eyes shut and my blood pounding where Vincent's fingers had been.

My underwear was damp. My nipple was still tender from his mouth, and my shirt was crooked.

If Dominik looked closely at me, he would see all of it.

He looked at me for a long time.

He looked at my crooked shirt, and he looked at the blanket Vincent had pulled up to my chin.

"Go downstairs," Dominik said.

"Dominik."

"Go downstairs, Vincent. Take Felix. Pour yourselves a drink."

Vincent's weight left the mattress slowly.

He paused beside the bed. For one second his fingers grazed my hair, so lightly nobody else could have noticed.

Then the door closed behind him.

Dominik crossed the room.

I heard the lock turn, and I heard him breathe.

"Now," he said quietly. "Let's see how deeply you sleep."

He sat on the edge of the bed. His hand came down on my forehead and stayed.

"Not hot."

His fingers moved to my throat and rested over the pulse. His thumb was as wide as two of Vincent's fingers, and it pressed against my windpipe.

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