Grabbing arms latched around his waist, tight, clinging. His limbs were too heavy, too much. Pain lanced through him, shoving white needles of light against his bones. He flailed, struggling to roll over.
“Whoa, whoa,” a voice said in his ear. “Vin. Wake up. Christ, I hate this—”
He struggled against those sinister arms, trying to shake the fog from his mind, to get the blood off his hands, to get away, God, just let him get away. He lurched, there was no ground below him, a sheer drop. His stomach dipped unpleasantly and the arms around him grew tighter, then heaved him back up onto the bed.
Bed? What? The rest of the sleep wool wrapped around his brain fell away. Beau must have moved him while he was sleeping; his boyfriend had autocratic tendencies along those lines. “Beau?” Vin exha
