There was blood on Drake's face in jagged lines, injuries wrought by desperate fingernails. The heavy length of his body, tattooed and muscular, kept Andrew pinned to the mattress with its weight alone. An arm across the back of Andrew's neck forced his face ear-deep in a blood-splattered pillow. Drake's other hand was up at the headboard, squeezed so tight around Andrew's wrists Andrew's fingers were ghostly white and bloodless. Neil saw too much blood and too much skin. He knew what he was seeing, knew what this meant, but couldn't believe it yet. That didn't stop him from leaping at Drake.
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