Vincent’s heart left his chest when he found Tilla crouching on the floor with her head resting on the rug. His hands were already laced with the strong smell of the werewolf blood. So, he couldn’t quite tell if Tilla was hurt and if she was bleeding or not from the angle she was lying.
He wanted to call her, but his voice got stuck in his throat when he saw her unmoving.
He slowly walked inside the room while trying to take a look at Tilla’s forehead to see if she was badly injured. He could hear her breathing, but he wasn’t sure if she was still conscious.
‘Why did I have to push the door so hard?’ Vincent cursed himself in his mind and stopped behind Tilla.
He gulped and slowly held out his hand to touch Tilla on her back. But he sharply inhaled and refrained from doing so when he saw the state of his hand – all red and sticky with dried blood. And to add to that, his dirty claws were still on full display.
