Sitting up was interesting. When it happened, Saerian released his grip on her. He wasn't far away, just well-hidden. And smirking.
This was a lot more physical contact than Phaedra was used to receiving, unless she was intentionally trying to seduce or kill someone. She blinked, eyebrows drawn together, confused, at this man who'd just helped her. Who the fuck helped a vampire? Who had that kind of tenacity, that they didn't kick her when she was down, or just outright run in the opposite direction?
You need me to call someone?
Phaedra considered that, considered asking him to call Harry. But no. Harry wouldn't be able to help until they knew more, and she didn't want him to get any more hurt. Him being squeezed by a demon in his own kitchen was all the responsibility she wanted right now.
The vampire shook her head. "No. Thank you."
She adjusted herself a little so that he wasn't supporting her anymore, but didn't brush him off at first. Slowly she got her legs under her and stood. Phaedra walked to a bench about two feet behind them and perched on the back of it, eyes a little bit vacant.