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“Are you okay? Princess, breathe for me. You need to breathe. Take deep breaths.”

I complied with his instructions almost mechanically.

“Good job. Good job, Princess. You’re doing just fine.”

Through my erratic spurts of breath, I caught sight of Ronan’s terrified eyes. Was he terrified of me? Because I killed someone?

The thought only made me freak out more.

“Guys, what the hell is going on over there?” Ronan asked, not taking his eyes off me. His hand rubbed soothing circles into my back as he occasionally reminded me to breathe.

Easier said than done.

“I don’t know what the fuck this thing is.” Ryder’s strained voice came from somewhere in front of me, hidden behind Ronan’s bulky frame. “This is Walking Dead level shit right here.”

“We need to call this in,” Tamson added, sounding shaken.

“I killed someone.” The words left my mouth in a broken whisper. “I’m a murderer. Oh god. I’m going to vomit.”

Before I even finished my sentence, said vomit exploded like a volcano eruption. Ronan, for his part, didn’t look away or even crinkle his nose in disgust. He continued to pat my back soothingly with one hand while the other hand pulled my hair out of my face. I was mortified to realize that my vomit had hit the unexpected bullseye...of his shoes.

“You didn’t kill anyone,” Ronan said softly. “It was self-defense, and he was still alive before Calax shot him dead.”

Shot? Calax?

I hadn’t even heard a gun go off.

“I don’t think...” I gasped out, but then clamped my mouth shut when I realized I didn’t know how to put my thoughts into words. I tried again. “I think he was sick or something. Did you see his face? His eyes? Oh god, what happened to him?”

Roman’s hand tightened marginally in my hair, the grip more pleasurable than painful. He released it with a heaving breath.

“I don’t know. I don’t know.”