Whatever sort of poison his assailant had used on him was wearing off. The dizziness ebbed, helping only to make his already splitting headache even worse. His limbs no longer felt like lead, now only so drained of energy that they shook with fatigue.
He hated it. Why would anyone want to do this to him? Why?
Feeling immature and in no mood to lie idle in bed after a man had just come in to kill him, Monnayage gave a low growl much like a cat's and tossed the blankets off of himself. The effort made his arms shake with strain, but he really could not care less.
Who was this kid, to tell him what to do and expect him to listen? He couldn't even fend for himself. He was a worm, the lowest on the food chain of human command. Animal instincts told him that he, Monnayage, was above this runt.
"I didn't do anything," he snarled. "Not that I can think of. That Higham's just an ugly bastard. Jealous of me, more like." The pain in his side started again and reminded him of his predicament, making him groan pathetically. "But there's nothing to be jealous of now. Not now that I've got a . . . scar."
The word even tasted ugly on his tongue.
Maneki came to curl up on his chest once more, glaring at him with her big blue eyes. <Oh, do be quiet already, or I'll give you another one to complain about. And it'll be in a place where you can't hide it.>
He stared back at her a moment, too angry to respond. Then he rubbed his nose with his arm, the smell of his blood on the sheets by the bed making his stomach roil. He'd never liked that smell, not even when it was his own.
"What kind of poison did that girl use, anyway? I'm so . . . drained." It was a change of subject, at least.