Bleeding Out Read Online Free PDF

outside, and the sun is so bright it’s almost cruel. I shield my eyes for a second. The glass and steel of downtown Vancouver burns with trapped heat. I feel like if I laid my cheek against any surface, it would sizzle. That might actually look pretty neat.
    “Where are you off to?” Lucian asks.
    “I was going to go home. I need to buy groceries first, though. There’s nothing in the fridge except vermouth and Babybel cheese.”
    “You could come over to my place.”
    “I could. Do you want to watch a movie?”
    He shrugs. This could mean either sex or
Star Trek
. I suppose I at least have a fifty-fifty chance of relieving some tension. As long as we don’t have to watch the episode where Captain Picard gets tortured by Cardassians. We walk to Yaletown. By the time we reach his apartment, I’ve sweat through my blouse and my feet hurt, which is my own fault for wearing these stupid sandals that haveproved impossible to break in. I watch Lucian as he fishes in his pockets for the key. His hands are lovely. His ass looks great in a pair of broken-down cargo jeans. I wonder why we’re still together, which is a favorite neurotic record that I like to play. The greatest hits of my imposter syndrome. Lucian could be with anyone, but for some reason, he chose me. I’ve never been able to figure out why. Before we met, he was hooking up with Sabine Delacroix, a vampire who looked like Jessica Rabbit. If that was his type, then why would he suddenly switch to dating someone like me?
    The living room is cool, thanks to the central air. I’m about to sit down on the couch when I remember how soaked my shirt is. I’m not willing to smell myself, but I know that it can’t be good.
    “I’m going to have a shower,” I say.
    “Okay. I think there’s still some of your conditioner left.”
    “Good. I’m not using your two-in-one.”
    “There’s nothing wrong with it.”
    “Lucian, it’s abnormal for a product to be both shampoo and bodywash. I’ll stick to what I know.”
    “Fine.” He kisses me on the cheek. “I’ll prepare something to eat.”
    I walk upstairs. His bathroom is bright and spotless. I strip off my clothes and step into the shower. The water raises goose bumps on my skin. I remember the first time I showered after visiting an occult crime scene. I couldstill smell the burning ammonia of goblin blood, which had gotten into my hair. I open my eyes and look down at the clear water swirling around my feet. No more blood. I guess this is what it means to take a vacation from the field: showers that don’t always end in having to disinfect the tub. I work some conditioner into my angry hair, which now resembles a knotted bedsheet. It weirds me out that I can’t find a single trace of Lucian in the shower: no skin cells, no stray follicles, nothing. How does he always manage to clean up after himself so well? That’s never something I’ve been adept at.
    Once my hair has reached the point where I might actually be able to run a comb through it, I turn off the water and step onto the cold tiles. He’s laid out a fresh towel for me, which smells of his fabric softener. I dry myself off and go to his room, where I always keep a contingency outfit. Not my sexiest ensemble ever, but at least it’s clean. As I’m pulling on the shirt, I notice that he’s left his smartphone on the bed. The red light is blinking. I pick it up gingerly. There’s a new text message.
    This must be a test. The universe is testing me to see if I’m a good human being. I should respect his privacy. But, at heart, I’m an investigator. I need to find things out, even when they’re bad. Especially when they’re bad.
    “No,” I murmur. “Just take the phone to him.”
    It could be the new Lord Nightingale. I doubt she’d say anything pertinent about this case via text message, but one never knows. Maybe it’s an ex. Oh, God, maybehe’s sleeping with the new Lord Nightingale, just like he slept with the old one.