Bab 67: Magical Contract

Logan's cough turns wet, and suddenly, a spray of crimson splatters across the pristine white sheets. My heart leaps into my throat.

"Holy shit!" I scramble back, eyes wide. "Logan, what—"

"Fuck a duck in a thunderstorm," he growls, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The smear of red against his skin makes my stomach lurch.

He stands, calm as you please, like he didn't just hack up blood all over the bed. "Excuse me."

Then he heads to the bathroom.

I sit there, frozen, listening to the sound of running water.

"Logan?" I call out, my voice embarrassingly shaky. "Are you okay?"

The water shuts off. "I'll be fine," he replies, his voice muffled through the door. "As long as you don't try to make me talk."

Something in his tone makes my blood run cold. I slide off the bed, wrapping the sheet around me as I approach the bathroom. Logan emerges, wiping his face with a towel. His chest is still flecked with red droplets.