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Summary
Geoffrey's confused expression turned to one of unbridled anger, "tread carefully leech; spit it out." He growled, hand gravitating towards the short blade on his bedside table.
"Do you know what the blood of King Arthur is?" Jonathan persisted, dancing around the question.
"You took it for you 'antidote', why don't you tell me, doctor." The hunter said sarcastically, his face still scrunched in a glare.
OR, Geoffrey McCullum's actions have consequences.
