Exile (Dance with my Demons #4)

by Steph Macca

The human body has roughly one and a half gallons of blood. Once, I spilled a carton of milk at home. That was roughly half a gallon.

i thought it was 5-6 litres (I ain't got no idea what a gallon is but no one spills 2.5-3 litres of milk vro)

Who the hell says alrighty these days? Loser.

:( i say alrighty

"Put it in harder," I growl. "Thrust it in. Put your damn back into it." "I'm fucking trying," Theo snaps. "Why don't you do something instead of standing there and attempting to look pretty? By the way, it's not working." I grin. "That's because I'm already fucking gorgeous, brother-in-law. Even you aren't immune to my charms." Theo stops, lifting the blade to my neck. "Want to make a bet? I can give you another little scar." My eyes dance in amusement, the cold blade pushing against my throat. Anyone else in this situation would be terrified. But me? This shit is the stuff dreams are made of. Theo doesn't look away, the two of us staring straight at each other with matching expressions. I raise my eyebrows, wiggling them. "Come on then. I'm waiting. Impale me on your knife." "You sick fuck," he grumbles, pulling it away and jamming it into the side of the access pad again. "Says the man who fucked Avery in a mortuary cabinet," I tease. "Didn't know necrophilia was your thing." Theo continues messing with the metal access pad, attempting to find weakness in the structure. "I'd fuck Avery on your dead body." "If she's naked, I'd die a happy man."

Grey reaches out through the darkness, gripping my hand as he starts to lead me toward the door. "Deadman?" "Coming." "I bet you did," Theo quickly interjects, earning a gasp from Grey. "You asshole. That was my line!"

"That's just how men are, sweetheart." No. We are not. It isn't a chromosomal trait to make women cry. Nor is it something to be proud of.