Page 49 of Lost Girl

A vibrant scarlet puddle soaking into the white cotton sheet beneath her.

“Wendy, wake up!” I croak, heart shooting up to my throat as I shake her awake.

?Start a War - Klergy & Valerie Broussard?

Gasping.

I wake up gasping to Tavi’s voice,again. The concerned brow I saw hours prior is still there, only magnified by a thousand now. He’s not even just concerned. Judging by what I see reflected back at me in his dark brown eyes, it’s clear that whatever he's just witnessed has left him horrified.

“I need to get you inside," he blurts in urgency. "You’re bleeding.”

I heard him, I swear I did, but I’m still reeling from another mind-numbing episode of sleep paralysis.

Because that's what this is. There’s no denying it now.

Tie that in with overall fatigue after the trek through the island and my brain is struggling to focus.

“You’re bleeding.” Tavi squeezes my hands, beckoning the attention of my stare. “I need to get you inside, okay? There’s a doctor here. I’ll take you to him as soon as—”

You’re bleeding.

I see the words reflected in his eyes, flinging me past simple realizations and right into over-analyzing. My heart drops to the very pit of stomach.

It can't be.

But it is. I don’t need to see the crimson source to know where it’s coming from. I can feel it, this sick warmth slowly spreading beneath me, forever tainting my favorite blue nightie.

Forever taintingme.

This isn’t the period I was expecting. Not quite a crime scene either, but it’s a lot. Enough to worry you when instincts are suddenly raging, blaring with a reality you hadn’t even considered could be possible prior to this very moment.

“I’m going to need to see that doctor,” my voice cracks as I refocus on Tavi’s now severe face.

I know what to do in this situation, learned all about it in my schooling, but I need the confirmation.

I need to hear a doctor tell me I’m miscarrying Peter’s baby.

* * *

Tavi setsme on my feet within the small foyer of his home before clicking the locks in place. It’s dark and quiet, just as you’d expect a home to be this early in the morning. He wastes no time after kicking off his trainers, carefully guiding me past the living room and the kitchen, down the small hall, and into the cramped bathroom where he lowers me onto the toilet.

“Should I draw you a bath? Would you prefer a shower?” he murmurs anxiously, his voice almost a whisper.

“A shower is perfect.” I wave him off, offering the best smile I can manage.

As appreciative as I am of him and all he’s done for me up to this point, I just want to fully process this disaster in my own company.

Is that so much to ask?

“Can you even stand for a shower?” he presses.

“Of course I can. I insisted on walking but you wouldn’t let me, remember? I’m not dying, Tavi.” I'm aiming for nonchalance, but it does nothing to lighten the mood.

He's on edge, running on pure adrenaline. “And how would I know that? You seem to know what’s happening but won’t speak of it with me. I can’t properly help if you don’t—”

“I’ve got it,” I blurt, reaching for his hand to soften the blow of my resistance. “It looks way worse than what it is, I promise. I’m just going to take a quick shower and clean up.”

His lips settle in a thin, harsh line, patience likely running thin. I’m waiting for further objection, bracing myself for what exactly he could say, but it never comes.

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