Sleep evaded me.
I tossed and turned under the silk covers, the moonlight filtering through the carved screen windows, casting shadows like fingers across the bedding. My stomach throbbed in tight, cramping waves. It was familiar and unwelcome—my period had arrived, unannounced and merciless. As usual. I shifted again, curling into a loose ball and muttering a curse under my breath.
"Can't sleep?" came a voice, low and smooth as velvet.
I didn't startle. I knew that voice.
"Not really," I muttered, rubbing my stomach. "My timing sucks. My periods are irregular and when they show up, they like to make an entrance. I'm sore, cranky, and all I want is a warm bed, a trashy movie, and chocolate I don't have."
A pause. Then a quiet shuffle. I couldn't help the soft chuckle that came out of me. I should have known that talking about 'womanly issues' would make the silent assassin uncomfortable.
"Do you ever sleep?" I asked, turning my head toward the dark corner.
