***ADRIAN'S POV***
Lizabeth had engaged me in a conversation before I could swallow the pills I'd fished from the drawer.
Four. I had taken four. The fear of miscalculating—of reducing the suppressant against the aphrodisiac—drove me into overdosing.
It was evening, time for my medication, yet her lingering presence in the room had stopped me.
I don't know how long I can keep doing this—hiding, sneaking and praying no one notices.
I hadn't even swallowed them when she began talking, and I had to respond. But when her hand closed over mine, her eyes tracing the disfigured finger, panic overtook me. I fled before my scent betrayed me.
Now, I gulped down the second glass of cocktail, the music of the bar pounding through my skull.
I came here to breathe, to escape. I don't drink, so I had settled for cocktails instead, hoping the taste might soothe me.
When I'm done, I'll book a room upstairs and pass the night alone while also tending to the painful ache building in my thighs.
