Slowly, but surely, Grayson's hold loosened further as he calmed down further.
Neville waited until Grayson's breathing deepened into a steady rhythm.
Now.
Neville began to extract himself from Grayson's embrace—first one arm. Then rolled out from the other. He managed to slide toward the edge of the mattress inch by agonizing inch, barely daring to breathe.
Freedom was so close. The door was right there, maybe ten steps away. He could still salvage this. He could still pretend that none of this ever happened. Leave the penthouse with a note about the food he would leave on the fridge and never speak of this night again.
His feet touched the floor.
He stood.
He took one step.
Two.
Three.
The doorway loomed before him like the gates to paradise.
Four steps.
Five.
He was almost there. His hand reached for the wall beside the doorway—
Something wrapped around his ankle.
Neville looked down.
A tail.
