A few months back.
The silence in the house was absolute. The sun had risen and set three times, casting long, shifting shadows across the bedroom where Loren lay. On the third afternoon, the heavy, chemical fog in his brain finally began to thin. His fingers twitched first, brushing against the silk sheets that were now cold and smelled faintly of a woman who was no longer there.
With a guttural, pained groan, Loren forced his eyes open. The light hitting his retinas felt like needles, and his head throbbed with a rhythmic, punishing beat. For a few minutes, he just stared at the ceiling, his memories fractured and hazy. He remembered the heat. He remembered the desperate, intoxicating scent of Lilith filling his lungs and the way her body had felt against his. He remembered the peak of
