Gorgon Child
“He could feel the pressure of his body against the sheets, could hear his breathing, smell his dried sweat.
Beyond that, it was a blur, one that resolved slowly, coming into focus . . .
He jerked upright, stifling a scream as the memories became vivid.
Next to him, the sheets were crumpled, and there was a hollow where a body might have lain for hours in exhaustion or slumber.
He heard a click, and finally focused on the far side of the room. Marina sat there, a cigarette in one hand, a .25 caliber automatic pistol in the other. An ugly bruise purpled the left side of her face.
He looked down the bore for long heartbeats, then dropped his eyes. "You don't need that," he said dully.
"I sat here," she said. Her voice was shaking. She stopped, took a drag on her cigarette—by the sweet scent Of it, he knew it was clove. "And I waited for you to wake up.
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