There were two traffic lights between his place and the only pharmacy in town and Samael was tempted to run them both when they changed on him at the last minute as he drove.
He resisted the impulse—just—then scared the hell out of the pharmacist when he insisted she fill the prescription on the spot rather than make him kick his heels for ten minutes in long-standing pharmacist tradition. He made it to Cassandra’s place in fifteen minutes and didn’t bother to knock before letting himself into the house.
She was on the bed where he’d left her, curled on her side, eyes closed, forehead creased with pain.
“How are you doing?” he asked quietly.
She didn’t open her eyes. “Not great.”
“Do you need water to take these?”
“Yes, please.”
He went to the kitchen for a glass of water. He helped
