Ten #2
“ ’Course not. You’d have to care to hate, and you’re above caring about anything.” Mason kicked one foot back against the school’s brick wall. “You don’t care what’s damaged in all this back-and-forth. You don’t care if someone gets all twisted up while you drag them around.”
“You’re one to talk about dragging people around.”
Mason ignored me. “I guess, all things considered, it makes sense.”
I clicked my teeth. “What are you trying to say?”
“Is it really that you don’t care, or do you just say that to cover the fact that you can’t?”
I hadn’t come looking for a fight. Or I guess I had—any kind of reaction had seemed better than what he’d given me all week. But not this, not what Mason was insinuating now.
“Say what you mean,” I dared, giving him another chance to backtrack.
But Mason doubled down. “So much makes sense when I think of it this way.” He took the plunge: “You’re all soulless.”
There was a low reverberation like quiet thunder. It was a moment before I realized it had come from a deep, wide space inside my chest.
Soulless. Like the undead in the scary stories Diane used to tell when I slept over at Cella’s, and the vampires the elementary school kids had dared each other to hunt in the cemetery at night.
Soulless like the red-eyed, hideous beasts in old books and the seductive villains in shows who have no reflection when they look in the mirror.
“Believe in fairy tales, Kane?”
Mason said, “You’re not a fairy tale. You’re a ghost story.”
Fury dripped like hot oil down my tongue.
Mason wasn’t just calling me soulless. He was also charging my cousin, the friend who somehow always showed up when I needed to step away from myself.
And Cedric, who had taught Annalisa to paint her nails and mine.
And my mother, who had cupped Cedric’s painted fingers in her garden—taught us how to nurture life with our lifeless hands.
He was insulting our leader: the chief who had coached me to suppress my predatory urges, the dad who had helped me learn to draw. My aunt Francesca and uncle Dante, the walls I used to cower behind when my parents were angry. Mason was insulting little Casper hiding inside my flowerpot.
Soulless?
Casper and I weren’t related by blood, but everyone in the clan was uncle or aunt or cousin to me. Mason was insulting my entire family.
Soulless? Well.
If we were that simple to him, I’d give him what he expected.
This time when my fangs pushed through my gums, it wasn’t an accident, but a vampire’s natural reaction to facing a werewolf.
“You’re going to take that back.”
And Mason responded like a wolf, prowling off the wall. His eyes were unrecognizable, completely moon gold. It really was that simple.
“ ‘Say what you mean,’ then ‘take it back.’ ” The growl beneath his voice didn’t sound human. “Does it ever end with you?”
Neither did the hiss in mine. “Back off.”
Mason didn’t back off but stalked forward. “Or what?” he taunted. “You’ll bite?”
I crawled my eyes over his frame. Licked my teeth. Mason reacted beautifully, the smugness sapping right out of his eyes as they dropped to my fangs.
“Should I?”
I stepped forward even though there wasn’t enough room, forcing Mason to stagger back to keep us from colliding.
Another step forward, another step backward was as far as we got before his back met the wall.
It seemed to surprise him, his mouth opening soundlessly.
The yellow in his eyes had receded to small specks like gold leaf.
“Hey, man,” said Mason. “Chill.”
“I’m so chill.” I grinned. Mason tried to sidestep, and I slunk into his path. “Aren’t you?”
His eyes were more expressive, shocked wide like this. I could see him weighing his options as clearly as though there was a scale between us. I didn’t give him the chance to decide, bringing my forearm to his throat. I pushed with just enough pressure to discourage him from moving hastily.
Leaning in and down, I made a show of listening to the rapid pound of his heartbeat.
“Cut it out.” Mason clenched his fists against the wall.
“Think that’ll get you anywhere?” I mused. “Try begging.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“I’m amused,” I said. My soft laugh hit his skin, and he shivered. He was still warm from his shower. “Everything’s backward when you’re soulless.”
“Kieran,” Mason said through gritted teeth. “. . . Can you be serious?”
“Okay. I’ll be serious.” I coated my words in velvet.
It made my throat scratch; I hadn’t tested my gift in years.
There hadn’t ever been any reason to practice when wielding the velvet tongue was mostly forbidden.
“Confession: I’ve heard werewolf blood tastes disgusting, but yours smells like nothing I’ve ever had. Makes my mouth water.”
The change showed quickly. A long exhale slid out between Mason’s teeth.
“Stop,” he said, but it was a glassy-eyed murmur. His shoulders rolled back into the wall, giving away some of his weight. I hadn’t known the trance would come on so fast. I wondered if it was always this easy.
“Confession,” I said. “You’ll be my first.”
With every word, my mouth skimmed flushed skin. Mason’s pulse slowed to a roll. His blood sounded like the ocean, like it could put me to sleep. Its peace was tempting.
What if crossed my mind, then got lodged there.
“Confession: I haven’t had a drink in a few days.”
Mason whined.
“One taste?” I said. “That’s all I need.”
I heard the drawl in my own voice. It struck me, distantly through a mist, that the trance of the velvet tongue might go both ways. Or maybe it was just Mason. The train of thought quickly dissipated in the fog of honey and citrus and slow-churning water.
My palms flattened against the wall on either side of Mason’s waist. I opened my mouth and let my fangs poke at his jugular.
He jolted, and the part of me that was still lucid inched back so I wouldn’t pierce his skin.
Mason made a disgruntled noise at that. He gripped the sleeves of my jacket, reeling me against him.
“Do it,” he said. “Bite me.”