The second intruder was still there.
He had backed himself against the wall, blood pouring from the raw ends of his wrists, his breathing broken and frantic as he stared at Karen with wide, animal terror. The man looked as though his mind had simply refused to accept what had just happened to his body.
Karen turned toward him slowly.
Her fingers flexed once, the elongated nails still slick with blood. She began to step forward.
Drogo's voice cut through the room.
"Don't!"
Karen paused mid-step.
She turned her head and looked at him as if she had not quite heard correctly.
"Are you serious right now?" she asked flatly. "They just tried to turn you into minced meat with bullets."
Drogo pushed himself up from the floor, still pale, still shaken, but his voice held firm.
"He's disarmed," he said. "Look at him. He's not a threat anymore."
Karen glanced back at the man, who was now sliding slowly down the wall, leaving a smeared trail of red behind him.
