The Bloody City by Megan Morgan Page B

“June.” He shoved up hard into her and she whimpered.
    After another minute of frantic thrusting, rattling the bed frame, he swiftly pulled out of her and stroked himself over her stomach. She released the blanket from her death grip and caressed his sweaty, quivering thighs. Warm fluid splattered her stomach. He groaned and shuddered above her.
    She closed her eyes and licked her lips. “Micha…”
    When he finished, he rolled off her and collapsed at her side. He left her sticky and wet and sore, and still twitching inside.
    “You all right?” She caressed his side. “I needed that.”
    “Yeah, me too.” He panted. “Thank you.”
    What exactly he thanked her for was unclear, but it didn’t matter.
    She used the bathroom first, a tiny white closet of a room with a sink and toilet. The walls were dingy, and the air smelled of disinfectant.
    She found a rag and cleaned up, refusing to meet her own eyes in the mirror. While tidying up down below, her stomach sank, and anger flared. Micha hadn’t pulled out fast enough.
    “Damn it,” she muttered. “‘I promise.’ Yeah right. That’s what they all say.”
    She did the math. She was around the end of her cycle, in the clear. Maybe. She should have paid better attention in health class.
    How awkward would it be to add Plan B to their supply list this week?
    Micha went in after her. She pulled her panties back on but left the pants off. She lay down on the bed, gazing into the darkness, thicker now that she’d been in the bathroom with the light on.
    Micha returned, pulled his shirt on, and left his jeans off. They lay on top the blanket, June’s side aching and her breath short. He stroked her arm slung across his chest.
    “If we make it out of this alive,” he whispered, “when this is all over, if we don’t feel the same about each other, I want you to know I enjoyed every minute with you.”
    June turned her head, getting a face full of his hair. “What are you talking about?”
    “Relationships formed during times of crisis. They aren’t built to last. You and I don’t have much in common. We have this, but once it’s gone…”
    She pressed against him. “Don’t get maudlin. Or introspective. Or any of those other big words you like to use.”
    “I’m just saying.”
    “Don’t say anything. Not everything needs to be said.”

Chapter 9
     
    June woke with a start, though thankfully not to Rose, or a vampire—the woman standing at the end of the bed probably wasn’t a vampire, anyway. Morning light streamed through the window, making the room appear less stark and more benign than the night before.
    The woman wore a white lab coat and thick-framed glasses. She held a clipboard. Her hair was dark and feathery, brushing her shoulders, cut in thick bangs across her narrow forehead.
    “I was told there would only be one of you.” She checked her clipboard.
    Micha stirred. They were still entwined and pants-less beneath the blanket.
    “It’s a long story,” June’s voice croaked. She woke most mornings with belated smoker’s sludge dredged up from her wounded lung, and this morning she also had a sore throat from the allergic reaction. “Sorry.”
    Micha stirred again and cracked open his eyes. He opened them wider and blinked at the woman.
    “I take it you’re the patient?” the woman asked him. She had a throaty voice, not as bad as Muse, but there was something soothing and comfortable about it. “I wasn’t actually given a name, just a description—Caucasian male, early thirties.”
    Micha lifted a languid hand and waved. “Present.” He dropped it back to his chest.
    “And you are?” she asked June.
    “June.” She struggled into a sitting position, wincing at the hitch in her side. Giving her identity away probably wasn’t smart, but she couldn’t come up with a different name on the spot. “Just…June.”
    “Occam is notoriously bad at keeping us informed,” the woman said. “It’s a thing with