Ursula's flashback/shared memory is over and her reaction is less than forgiving...
“You cunt.” Ursula’s blue eyes were huge, hate-filled holes in her face. I swallowed reflexively. The taste of her blood was tantalizingly sweet. We stared at each other, aghast, until the lights in Oliver’s conference room flared on and we screwed up our eyes in protest.
“What the fuck just happened?” Neal demanded. He stood by the light switch, blood smeared across his face and bare chest. Multiple bite wounds stood out on his throat.
Parker and Gareth stood so close, their bodies brushed. Parker’s lips were rouged with Gareth’s blood. Both of them looked drugged by shock.
Andre, my master and trigger, sat by himself on the edge of a leather sofa at the end of the room. Blood stained his half unbuttoned blue shirt. He visibly struggled to overcome the haze that had enveloped him during our blood exchange.
Oliver stood by the black lacquer conference table. Proud and devastatingly powerful, he simply stared at me, his gaze calculating.
“You. Fucking. Freak.” Ursula shrieked the last word and spat a bloody wad of phlegm at me. Hot and wet, it splattered across my face, but I made no move to wipe it away. She ached to punch me, I could tell by her contorted face and clenched fists, but some small shred of self preservation clung to her senses. No fighting in Oliver’s conference room. I had a lousy feeling she’d lay in wait in the underground garage though.