Her neck arched. She did her best to fight, but he wanted her compliance more than she wanted her freedom. Desperation had fine-tuned him into an extraordinary beast. He could smell her toothpaste, and it was a field of wild mint. The diamonds in her eyes were more riches than he had ever imagined he would own.

Then the bedside lamp was arcing through the air. Had it been switched on, he knew it would have left a rainbow of light in its wake. Even as he saw it coming, he recognised it was too late for avoidance. Shattering on contact with his cheekbone, the pottery base turned gravel and took root in his flesh.

Angela fought harder as Fergus swayed, his head a wasp nest as he reeled from the injuries to his nose and cheek. The important thing was to keep the handkerchief over her mouth until she was asleep, but his hand was trembling and weak, and now he could see two Angelas, neither of them clearly. His hand needed help to maintain the pressure, so he pushed his forehead down on top of his own hand, doubling the force and allowing him to close his eyes for a moment. If he lost consciousness now, it was over. If she got out from under him, he was done. Everything he wanted, what pathetic time he had left, would be smoke.

She battered him with one fist. He had to take back control until she complied.

With one last monumental effort, Fergus raised his body a few inches then slammed his whole weight onto her ribcage. He grabbed her wrist with his free hand and her fingertips scratched weakly at his knuckles. The bed was wet, he realised. His knee rested in a damp, warm patch. That was fine. A success, in fact. She was relaxing. Surrendering. His whole head buzzed and burned, tidal nausea swept over him. Fergus let her hand slide from his grasp as the world pixelated then faded. His body covering hers like a blanket, the handkerchief then his hand and finally his head resting on her mouth, Fergus could resist unconsciousness no longer.

Was it possible that death was coming for him so much sooner than he’d anticipated? Fergus breathed deeply, trying to catch hold of the pain, yearning to stay in the moment with Angela, but there was a roundabout spinning mercilessly in his head, and he couldn’t get off her, couldn’t have lifted his head or moved his hand from her mouth if his life had depended on it.

Angela’s body juddered beneath his.

He couldn’t get off.

Angela inhaled ragged, raw breaths through her nose as the chemical held over her mouth worked its magic.

He couldn’t get off.