Titania
“What the — ”
My eyes widen as Titania pulls the trigger, a wary sound rolling out of the gun as she collapses. I twist away, then swiftly recall that I took away the bullets from the gun earlier, before lunging at the desk, kneeling beside her curled-up figure. “What the f*****g hell do you think you're doing?!”
She doesn't answer, drool pooling out the corners of her lips, her words slurred. I glance at the desk to see the empty wine bottle.
Shit. Trust the alcohol to make a mess out of everything.
I kick the gun farther away from us. “I told you not to touch anything. What got into you?” I ask, raising a brow, and checking her temperature. She's warm, her breathing steady, yet labored. She tries to stand but her nerves are so weak they plop down by her sides like overweight
