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She'd been bitten.


He should shoot her.


It would be a mercy.


But he couldn't.


He was weak.


Love was supposed to be a strength.


But it had made him weak.


He'd thought he was going to lose her, seeing her in Keas' arms.


But he'd saved her.


And now he was going to lose her again.


Her eyes were wide.


She was scared.


So was he.


But she didn't stop him.


She told him to do it.


To kill her before she could turn.




he couldn't.


She should have turned by now.


Everyone else had changed in seconds.


How long had it been since she'd been bitten?


One minute? Two?


But she hadn't turned.




He was a sensible man.


But now, he could only hope.


He holsters his gun.


He picks her up.


She squirms.


She asks what he's doing.


Her breath ghosts over his neck.


She doesn't smell of rot.


Her skin hasn't changed color.


Her eyes are still wide and clear.


Her protests aren't mangled.


He has to hope.


If he's wrong, he'll shoot them both himself.