It's Sunday morning and for the first time in a year, I'm in a bed that isn't somewhere in Mercywing. The sunlight feels warm and clean on the areas of my skin not underneath the sheets. I doze, dimly aware of ink humming against my back. Gideon stayed in his undershirt and jeans when we went to bed last night, even pushing the covers over to my side to rest on the bare mattress. The sheets are still between us, but I can feel how we're tangled together, him on the single lumpy pillow and me using the hollow of his throat. I'm surprised I'm not suffocating him with my hair.
Eventually, I'm awake enough to stretch. In response, the sore spots on my body from last night's fight flare up. Gideon's arm moves against me, brushing hair from my shoulder as I settle back against him. I don't want to go anywhere today, not when I feel like this. "What time is it?"
"Early yet. Just past seven." His voice sounds clear, alert, and I get the feeling his version of sleep is different than mine. "How do you feel?"
"Like hell." Especially my throat, which hurts not only from Frankie, but from all the growling and snarling I did as a wolf. The pain is enough to make me reach over him and grab one of the free candy drops left on the bedside dresser, hoping a coat of artificial peppermint will help the words come out more easily. "I'm going to be limping around when I finally haul my ass out of this bed. Right now, a hundred-year-old could outrun me."
It's only a joke, but his arm tenses around my ribs. Oh. He still feels bad for not fighting alongside me. What was that phrase he used? Unbecoming conduct. For all that he made fun of those knights he and his brothers were named after, I bet they're stuck deeper into his mind than he'll admit. I shift my head enough to look at him, ignoring the pain lancing down my spine as our noses brush. "It digs at you, doesn't it? You think you did something wrong by letting me take on Frankie alone."
The line of his jaw goes tense. "Yes."
Now that we're not being chased by a vampire, there's time to shove back irritation at the suggestion I can't do something myself. "I won, didn't I? Got through everything he tried. It worked out fine."
He doesn't say anything, but his thumb brushes my mouth, stopping just by the split in my lip. The feeling sends a thrill through me, but his pupils are dilated with worry, not teasing.
Okay, he won't be persuaded by that line of thinking. "Those knights you talked about. You know, how they were all about honor, and conduct, and, um..."
"Valor."
"Sure. Well, the women knights were expected to be the same way, right?"
"There weren't any." He eyes me, trying to figure out my angle.
My argument pops like a balloon. "Why not?"
He shrugs. "It was simply unheard of for that culture in those times. Only men could be knights."
"You mean, women just didn't matter?" If that's true, it explains a few things.
He shifts a little, hand absently sliding down to my shoulder while he thinks. "They mattered very much. There are many stories of knights doing magnificent deeds for the women they loved. The highest level of triumph a knight might achieve was to be deserving of his lady."
"What she'd do for him?" I run my fingers along the neck of his shirt, trying to take it all in.
"She was his lady," he says, as if that explains everything.
"Okay. But what did she do? Fight by his side? Give him a home to live in? Breathe?" When he looks at me like it's something no one considered before, a lady having to do something to catch and keep a knight's attention, I try again. "What made her so special that he'd go out and do these amazing things?"
"I suppose above all else, she would recognize his acts of honor." He must catch the dubious look on my face, because he adds, "It's no small thing, being appreciated."
Something about the way he says those words gives me a sudden glimpse into him. Holding onto it, I move in a new direction. "Do you believe all this?" I waggle my fingers to show I mean the general idea.
His hand gently catches mine. "Myths hold people together throughout generations. That doesn't mean they're a suitable guide for everyday life. For one thing, a true knight would have killed me as soon as he saw past my eyes; they were incredibly xenophobic. I've never modeled myself after them, even if I carry the name of a famous one. Although..."
He hesitates, fingers twining with mine. As ink slides against my skin, I wait, watching him turn over the idea in his mind. Finally, he says, "I suppose in an abstract way, they may have rubbed off on me. The idea of acting this way instead of that and being the better for it. That's what you're driving at, isn't it?"
I raise an eyebrow. "Like maybe how doing something for a girl is great, but letting her do it herself is just fucking weird? And maybe right now that girl is me?"
When he grimaces, I move my head a little, enough that my lips brush the tips of his fingers while our hands are still together. When his expression changes, I know he feels my teeth, too. "I'm not a lady, Gideon. At this point, I'm not even a girl. I'm a wolf witch, and I won't sit out on fighting, even if it's dangerous. I know how to take care of myself."
His hand pulls away from mine, and for one really bad moment, I'm sure I scared him off. But he only moves to brush my arm, carefully tracing around the bruises. "But do you know how to step away, as well?"
My turn to be grilled. Well, it's only fair. "What do you mean?"
"From the things you've told me, you're very used to facing situations alone. It didn't matter whether you wished to or not, you simply had to for years."
I nod, thinking about it. Some of them weren't bad at all, like being able to forge Gran's signature on slips that excused me from doing stupid school field trips. And some of them were damn hard, like getting my period for the first time while Gran was in the hospital from complications. It took twenty minutes to figure out how to work the pad dispensers, and another five to put one on. "Yeah, I guess. What's wrong with that?"
He studies me. "I think it made you afraid of needing help. That you must do something yourself, because if you can't, then it won't get done at all."
"So?" Despite my best efforts, I feel myself getting defensive.
His hand pauses on my arm as he catches my change in mood. Then, he shrugs, ink warm and easy against my skin as he smiles. "So, letting someone help you is just fucking weird."
It's so unexpected, I laugh. "Well, yeah. It makes me come off looking weak. I'd rather be a monster than a wimp, even if it means cuts and bruises."
There's still guilt in his eyes, but not as much as before, and he stays silent while tracing the curve of my ear. Damn, that feels good. My own fingers slide over his ink, sending the lines swirling in new patterns. While watching the light glimmer, I come down with my own dose of guilt. "How much trouble are you going to be in? You know, for pulling all that power to make the motorcycle?"
"The ramifications will fall back on INKtech. Technically, I'm an experiment, not a human. Androids have more legal liability than I do." His voice sounds neutral, but the light from his ink flickers sharply.
"Aren't you scared of what they'll do?"
"They have to find me, first. I've placed false signals back in the Kingdom, and even pulled the power for last night's working from its capital city, Three Bell."
I almost ask how that's possible, but any explanation would go right over my head. Still, I must look unconvinced, because he adds, "I've also tapped into their communications network. Only Slake thinks I may be powerful enough to plant false trails, and he's having difficulty convincing his superiors to let him return to Necali instead of remaining with the rest of the search team in the Kingdom. Trust me, I'm being as careful as possible. Yet I'll simply have to take some risks."
The tips of his fingers follow the curve of my jaw before he says, "Point in fact, I'd planned to visit the nearest shop this morning to buy a few things. You mentioned the sorry state of your clothes."
Worry itches at me, but he has a point; I can't go into a store dressed this way. "Yeah, getting arrested for indecent exposure would kind of suck."
I push myself up, keeping the sheets around me when I realize the shirt has bunched up to my waist. "There's only one convenience store here in town. They sell sneakers and souvenir t-shirts, but that's about it, so you better get some duct tape, too."
"Duct tape?" He blinks at me.
"Sure. I can patch up my shorts that way. It'll look better than it sounds. Really." A laugh bubbles out as I remember something. "In fact, a few weeks after Elliot and I became friends, we went to a school dance wearing formal wear made out of duct tape. He built his suit with electric blue tape, and I used bright yellow for my dress. You couldn't even look at us straight on."
A small ache settles into my chest, similar to the one I feel when thinking about my parents. My voice turns soft. "After we got kicked out for breaking the dress code, we spent the rest of the night driving to the mall in Glimmer and messing around in there. I still have the pictures we took in the photo booth there. Or, I did. They're back at Mercywing."
My smile fades, and I glance over at Gideon. "Valentine will go after him sooner or later."
"Probably," he admits, ink flickering. "As your boyfriend, he'sâ"
"No," I say, feeling out the truth in that word. "He's not my boyfriend, anymore. I think I'm through with him whether I want be or not. He doesn't know it, yet, but I do. It's just that he was my friend, a great one, and I don't want him torn apart like Pilar or turned like Frankie."
Gideon's fingers settle over mine, and I look down to find my claws have grown out, shredding the sheets. His silver ring brushing against my knuckles is enough to send my hand back to normal. "Do you wish to tell him?" he says, quietly.
"I don't know if he'd believe me," I admit. "And he'd be furious to find out about you. So telling him might hurt more than it'd help."
"There are still hours of sunlight left. You have time to decide what to do." Going by the carefully neutral look on his face, he won't reveal what he really thinks about bringing Elliot into this.
I nod, quiet as he gives my fingers a final squeeze before getting out of bed.
While he gets ready to leave, I try grabbing more sleep. But even though my body is dead tired, my mind remains wide awake with nerves, and I'm still picking at the sheet when he steps out of the bathroom, freshly shaved and wearing a new shirt. We spend a few minutes on little thingsâdirections to the store, my shoe sizeâbefore he moves toward the motorcycle.
"You can help yourself to the things I left on the sink," he says, wheeling it toward the door. "The shaving cream, the toothpaste, all of it. I don't mind sharing."
I maneuver out of bed, making sure I don't flash any extra skin, and walk over as he shrugs on his leather jacket. He starts, as if remembering something, and reaches into his pocket. "Your necklace."
"Oh. Right." I watch him unfold the handkerchief, revealing the gleaming silver inside. We don't have to ask or offer at this point; I raise my chin and he moves in close, the necklace cool against my neck even as his ink heats up my collarbones.
When he finishes, I reach for his arm without thinking. I have to say something more than bye. Before he leaves, I have to tell him this. "You don't need to act like such a gentleman around me, you know. That's not why I, um, appreciate you."
The word feels silly on my tongue, but Gideon falls very still. Doubt burns through me like lightning, and I almost pull back my hand. The sense of having already gone through this looms in my mind. I said this before, to someone else, and the results weren't good. "You're there for me, sure, but you also listen. You always do, even if you think I'm wrong. And that means a lot to me."
My mouth goes dry while I wait for a response. It sounds like something so small, the ability to listen, but fuck if it isn't hard to find in someone. After telling Elliot this and having him dismiss my words, convinced they weren't honest, I don't know what to expect. My attention spirals inward, thinking about it, but the feeling of Gideon's thumb against my mouth brings me back.
"I don't think you're a monster," he says, brushing my lower lip in a silent signal. I part my lips, letting him find my teeth. His eyes are dark again, but this time, it's not from concern. "And you're certainly not weak."
His touch does things to me, and I rise to my toes, sore legs be damned. His hand slides under my chin, pulling me in those last few inches, and then we're kissing, unhurried and open-mouthed. It's even fucking better than last night, and when we break off, I'm panting and he's not far behind.
"I'll be back soon," he murmurs, voice still uneven against my cheek.
I nod, and then he's gone, the door shutting quietly behind him.
"Shit," I say, for no reason in particular, still smelling the rich leather of his jacket on me, still feeling his pulse race against my hands.
In an attempt to pick up the pieces of my morning routine, I make the bed before heading for the bathroom to clean up. Brushing my teeth helps me feel cleaner, more refreshed, and so does shaving. My underwear and bra are still damp at the elastic, but I wriggle into them before getting to work on the knots in my hair.
I'm studying my tank top to see if it's worth repairing when I hear keys in the door, and then the sound of it opening.
"That was fast," I say, pulling on his shirt again before moving out into the main room. "Did you justâ" The rest of the words stick in my throat.
Elliot stands just inside the doorway, frozen as he takes in my appearance. There's another pink pastry box in his hand, probably a replacement cupcake for yesterday's, and a camera around his neck. "Nina, what the fuck?"
Instinctively, I tug at the edge of the shirt. Christ, this couldn't look worse; I'm holding my ripped-up tank in one hand while wearing what is obviously a guy's shirt. "What are you doing here? How'd you even get a key?"
"I bribed the manager. Whose shirt is that?" His words blur together as his voice rises.
"It's..." I rub my forehead with the back of one hand, trying to think of how to lay it all out. "This isn't what you're probably thinking."
"Are you shitting me? You're in a motel room in some guy's clothes! What else could it be?" He throws the pastry box down and grabs for the cigarette behind his ear, fingers shaking while he lights it.
I wince and try again. "I know it looks bad. I know. But someone's helped me get through some really weird shit for the past week. I haven't said anything because I didn't think you'd believe me, because I didn't believe Laci when she first told me, not untilâ"
"Who is it?" The look in his eyes is awful, like his worst nightmare came true, but his voice sounds calm enough. "It's him, right? Agent Glass."
Dropping my tank on the bed, I move toward him. "Please, listen to me. Things are really bad right now, and I think you're going to get pulled into it."
"Just tell me how long you've been seeing him." Smoke streams out with his words as he stares, still deathly calm.
I shake my head, reaching out to touch his hand as lightly as possible. "No, I really need to explain everything else that's been going on. That's more important thanâ"
The slap catches my still-tender cheek and nose, and I hear myself yelp, the room suddenly blurry. He hit me.
"How long?" he yells, voice cracking.
But I can't find any words, sinking down and feeling blood drip between my fingers while I clutch my face. How could he act like this? When his shadow falls over me, I instinctively flash my teeth. "Get away."
I think he does; I hear him back up, anyway. But I don't watch to make sure, because my nose is dripping on my shirt, on Gideon's shirt, and I scramble for my own torn one to keep the bleeding at bay.
Then, I hear a familiar click. And another. A growl burns in my throat as I glare up at the camera lens pointed at me. "Oh, fuck you. What are you going to call this series, 'Blood from a Betrayer?'"
He doesn't stop. "Probably 'Backstabbing Bitch.'"
"You asshole." I stumble up, feeling my skin seethe against the silver. "You think you can treat me like this? What did I ever fucking do to you?"
"What did you do?" he screams back.
The memory of Gideon's mouth on mine sends me wincing back, but when the camera clicks again, I snarl. "Get that out of my face or I'll smash it to pieces!"
"What's the matter, don't you like having things in your face? I bet you loved it with him."
"I wouldn't know because it never happened!" I grab for the camera, but my muscles seize up with so much rage and leftover soreness that he darts out of the way, still taking pictures.
After that, we really start fighting, pulling out every flaw, every bad decision, and every stupid mistake we ever found in each other, using it as ammunition. I don't know how long it is before the police arrive, but they take one look at us and bring out the handcuffs. At least they put us into separate cars back to the station.
Eventually, I end up in an interrogation room, empty except for a table, two chairs, and some facial tissue that I use for my bloody nose. After cleaning myself up as best as possible, there's nothing to do but wait and shiver, half from being dressed in nothing more than a shirt, and half from spent adrenaline and growing fear. What if the cops are still poking around the motel room when Gideon gets back? I hope he's ruthless enough to find a new safe place instead of searching for me. God, I'm so stupid.
There's no clock in here, so there's no way to tell how much time passes before a detective enters the room. He's polite and friendly, telling me he only wants a statement about what happened, but my hands still remember the bite of handcuffs. I just stare at the table between us, tell him I don't have anything to say, and tune out any attempt at coaxing. Eventually, he leaves, still patient and polite. After that, I hold my head in my hands, trying to stop the shaking.
The next time the door opens, someone clears their throat. "Miss Belmonte."
Even if I didn't remember that flat tone of voice, the Kingdom accent gives it away. I look up across the table, feeling my heart race as Agent Slake takes a seat.
"Here on a domestic disturbance call, are you?" he says, ink throwing up lines of information between us. His tattoo moves differently than Gideon's, the light dimmer and less fluid.
When I don't say anything, he looks at me. He's still neatly dressed, tie perfect and face freshly shaven, but there are purple bags under his eyes. "I autoported five thousand miles to converse specifically with you. At the very least, you can respond to whatever question I ask."
No way. If Gideon is still freeâand I have to believe that, otherwise my stomach ties up into knots so tight I might throw upâI won't say anything about anyone, not when there's a chance I might let something slip that they can use to find him. And I'm just too tired and scared to tell a lie and keep it straight. "I don't have anything to say."
"Very well." He doesn't sound surprised. "We'll leave the talking to me. The young man you were fighting with. Mr. Elliot Hopkins. He gave a statement that yesterday you both saw one of our agents at a local restaurant, that the agent in question is Gideon Glass, and that you both remembered him from his previous visit to your classroom as part of a demonstration that occurred on the third of this month. Do you agree with Mr. Hopkins on this?"
I just stare at my folded hands, ignoring the flickering patterns from his ink.
After a pause, he continues. "Mr. Hopkins has further stated that you are his girlfriend, and it is his belief you have taken a secret lover on the side. His claim is that Agent Glass is this lover. Will you confirm or deny it?"
When I keep quiet, he sighs. His chair creaks, and when he speaks, his voice sounds much closer. "I don't have high hopes of speaking with you successfully. Not after I learned you're from a bloodline of wolf witches, one as old as many of those yet existing in the Kingdom. Perhaps you know some of the stories about the Kingswolves?"
His voice still sounds flat and dry, but I tense up, wondering what he's getting at.
"There are myths about the wolves in the ancient times before humans brought civilization to every corner of the Kingdom. Perhaps the most notorious legend tells of how, during the leanest months of winter, a wolf pack would send one of their bitches to find men to lure back into the woods. Hermits living in mud huts, fur trappers, even rural priests. She would entice them away, leading them to the rest of the pack to be eaten." From the slight curl in his lip, I can guess what he means by entice.
It's just irritating enough to get me to say, "What's your point? Are you afraid I'm going to eat my boyfriend one day?"
He actually smiles at hearing me speak, but it doesn't reach his voice. "I think Mr. Hopkins is slightly mistaken. You do have a lover, but it's not Agent Glass."
Then his ink flickers, this time forming a sheet of paper, blank except for a photo ID printed on it. He casually picks it out of the air and sets it between us, making sure the photo will appear right side up to me. I can't keep from looking.
I only saw him once before, but I still recognize Desmond Healy's bold eyes and easy grin.
"We know he's a blood witch connected with Scheer, and that you're working with him to draw Agent Glass off his trail." Slake's voice cuts through my confusion, and I glance up at him despite myself.
"What?"
"Don't play coy." His voice turns cold.
I'm not sure whether to laugh or snarl over how wrong he is. "You're talking out of your ass. I don't know this guy, and I'm certainly not working with him."
"We know you are. What we don't know is to what extent you've helped him. He's a dangerous man, Ms. Belmonte, who worked with another dangerous man back in the Kingdom. That particular case was solved, but the one here is still ongoing. Haven't you noticed there are plenty of people missing at this point? Many are either your classmates or those you met with on a daily basis." Photo after photo is formed by his ink, hovering in the air in front of me.
Laci, Melanie, Frankie. Pilar, Jesse, and other faces from class. So, that's how Valentine solves the problem of his victims. By putting the blame on other people, on wolf witches. Motherfucker. When I see Mrs. Kent's photo, I jerk forward despite myself, feeling my fingers curl into fists.
The flicker of Slake's eyes tells me he noticed my reaction, but he only says, "Did you lure these people back to him?"
"No," I grit out. "I don't even know him."
"I can't believe that," he says, shortly. "He joined your mother's birth pack some years ago. I think you know him very well." There's a pause, and he suddenly adds, "You overstepped yourself, attempting to take Agent Glass."
The expression on his face surprises me. He looks angry. At the idea of a scummy wolf witch daring to fuck with inkers, or that it's Gideon I'm supposedly targeting?
Before I can glean more, the door opens, and the detective who tried to interview me earlier pokes his head in. "Slake. Got a second?"
Whatever he wants to say ends up taking minutes, not seconds. And when the door opens again, I catch Slake's voice, stiff with anger. "How could you lose him? I gave you handcuffs built specifically for locking down the ink."
They're talking about Gideon. I jolt up out of the chair, and then freeze, realizing there's nowhere to go.
"We didn't. Your handcuffs didn't work. Maybe you should try looking for him instead of doing our job here," snaps the detective. Then he motions at me. "C'mon. You're free to go."
Part of me can't believe it, and the other part believes that if I ask if he's serious, he'll take it back. So, I just hurry toward the door, matching Slake's glare with one of my own while squeezing by him. The detective escorts me out to the front.
I'm so eager to leave, to be outside and free again, that I'm through the doorway and down the steps before realizing the only light around comes from street lamps. It's night.
I stop dead, staring at the dark sky in shock. Shit. How long was I in there? Going back isn't an option, so I scrounge change from the nearest water fountain and then find a bus stop with a route back to the motel. For a few minutes, I wait, flinching at every shadow before my nerves get the better of me. I start moving again, deciding to catch the next taxi I see, and end up on a street where the only lights are neon signs and half of the pedestrians look just as fucked up as I do. Great, I must be in Slocata's Fun Alley. People only come here to get drunk, get high, or get off on something you can't talk about in polite company. I hunch my shoulders and avoid making eye contact.
A car rumbles up beside me as I turn down a quiet side alley. In the split second before I turn, my claws slide out, ready to rip at whoever's there.
Elliot. He looks about as good as I feel, slouched in his seat and holding the stub of a cigarette in one hand. He motions at me. "C'mon. Get in."
"Fuck off and die." I keep walking.
"Look, I'm sorry. It won't happen again."
"I don't care. It happened once, and that was enough."
"Don't be like that. The thought of him and you together just made me snap, that's all. C'mon, we've been through too much to break up like this."
"Elliot." The word comes out as a growl as I turn toward him, ready to scream. But my voice chokes off in my throat. A figure approaches the car from the other side, blending into the shadows. I know that stride. "Elliot, go! Get out of here!"
Then I'm running for him, but it's too late. The figure steps into the flickering pool of light cast over the driver's side of the car, revealing himself. Valentine gives me a grin that shows all of his teeth before reaching in through the open window and grabbing Elliot by the collar.
"Whatâ" It's the only word Elliot gets out before Valentine jerks him sideways, slamming his temple into the metal framework of the car.
A scream shreds my throat when I see split skin gape an instant before blood streams out. Elliot goes limp, dazed as Valentine pulls him through the window.
"Careful, now," says Valentine, holding Elliot in front of him, fingers digging into his throat until he chokes for air. "Remember our last talk about choices and consequences? You didn't do too well with the girl. Or your friend. Or his friend. So this time, you get a chance to think before you act."
"Let him go," I say, hating how my voice trembles as I approach within a few steps.
He raises his eyebrows. "Are you sure? Minutes ago, you told him to die."
Elliot tries to choke out my name, but I can't look at him, can't even glance in his direction without sickness flooding me full. "I didn't..."
"Well, if you don't care about him, anymore, this shouldn't be a hard decision. Grow your fur and we'll fight over his dead body. Or..." He pauses. Elliot scrabbles at Valentine's grip, clawing for air, but Valentine doesn't seem to notice his struggles, easily holding him with one hand while he waits for me to ask.
I'm shaking so bad, it's hard to stand. "Or what, motherfucker?"
Valentine's free hand snakes out and catches one of Elliot's. There's a snapping sound, and then Elliot gives out a strangled scream.
"Stop it!" I jerk forward, heart slamming against my ribs at the sight of Elliot's finger bent in a wrong way, at the tracks of tears and snot running down his face.
"Try that again, this time politely," says Valentine.
I've never wanted to kill someone so badly. "What's the other choice?"
"Take off your silver and put this on." Something flickers into being in his free hand, sparking with lingering metal magic as he throws it at my feet.
After getting a good look at it, I gag, covering my mouth to keep anything from coming up. It's a dog collar. Made of thick leather except for a thin band of silver on the inside. "No. No way."
Dimly, I'm aware of him speaking again. "Think about it. If you put on the collar, he won't have to be in the middle of this. We'll leave him behind. Never know, he might get lucky and be found by something better than vultures."
"How do I know you won't kill him, anyway?"
"I am killing him. The only way to keep him alive is to put it on. Really, Nina, you're just stalling." I see the flash of his teeth before there's another snap, and this time the sound Elliot makes is more of a whimper.
"You fuck." Despite myself, I jump toward them, claws sliding out. It's a bad move, and I know it even before Valentine snarls, tightening his grip around Elliot's neck.
"One inch closer, and I'll tear his head from his spine before you can blink." His voice sounds cold, blank, and I know he's not bluffing.
Everything twists in me as a small voice in my mind screams louder and louder to just pick up the collar.
"Maybe I need to rip off something before you'll get the message." Valentine's fingers reach for Elliot's ear, pinching the shell, and then I'm speaking.
"Okay! I'm doing it." I yank off the necklace, feeling dizzy and dry-mouthed. As the silver pools in my hand, I have the split-second thought of throwing it at Valentine as a distraction.
Before I can do more than hesitate, his voice drifts over. "He'd be dead while the necklace was still in the air. Better drop it instead."
The silver slides off my sweating palm, landing somewhere by my feet. Then I reach for that fucking collar, my breath coming out funny, too fast. But just the feel of it against my fingers sends me flinching back.
While I kneel there, unable to move, Valentine laughs. I hear a wet, tearing sound, and Elliot's voice rises in a ragged shriek. I jerk up in time to see Valentine drop a scrap of flesh with a flick of his fingers. "I'm bored, Nina. If you don't decide soon, I'm moving onto other parts of the face."
Something inside me blisters as I stare at the ear by the toe of Valentine's boot, mangled and bloody. At one point, I had the shape of its curve memorized from whispering so many secrets and jokes into it. I still remember feeling it against my lips.
And at that, every spark of fight in me goes out.
My hands shake while reaching for the collar again, but this time, I don't hesitate. The silver feels cold against my throat, but before I can do more than fumble, Valentine's there, locking it closed with fingers still sticky with Elliot's blood.
Feeling the collar constrict against my windpipe finally sets off the blind panic rising in me since I saw his shadow, and I whirl around, ready to snap, punch, and kick. But he only tightens his grip. "Do you want me to bring the boy to make you behave? No? Then come on."
I don't even have a chance to make sure Elliot is still breathing before he drags me away, one hand keeping pressure on the collar until it's impossible to take in a full breath. Around the corner, a truck waits, dusty from desert roads, but I see something else, too. People. A couple of girls, a few years older than me and dressed for a night of bar hopping.
I take the chance, lunging forward despite Valentine's grip. "Help me!"
The girl with ripped-up tights and braided hair looks over at my ragged voice, slowing down despite whatever her friend hisses into her ear.
Valentine growls, holding onto me by one arm, but I don't care if he tries wrenching it out of the socket, because this is my last chance to escape. "Please! This guy hurt my friend and then threatened me unless I went with him."
She stops, eyes flicking from my face to Valentine's, her own etched with uncertainty.
Valentine's grip on me tightens, but when he speaks, his voice has changed, now whining and exasperated. "She always does this after I pull her out of a binge with her dustbunny friends. I'm just trying to take her home."
The second girl moves up beside the one in the braids. "She's just fried on something. Probably has been for days; look how she's dressed. C'mon, Liz. Don't get mixed up in this."
"Please," I say, hearing my voice crack.
Liz hesitates for another moment, eyes dark with concern, but when her friend tugs her arm, she turns around and starts walking again.
Tears run down my face as they disappear around a corner, and only the collar keeps me from howling in frustration as Valentine jerks me down the street. My eyes are too blurry to see the truck Valentine pulls me to, but I hear the click of the door opening. Then he shoves me into a seat that smells like old blood, sweat, and fear.
"Humans see only what they want to," he says calmly, grabbing my hands. By the time I realize what he's doing, he already has the first loop of cord around my wrists. I kick out and snap, trying to keep him away, but the collar keeps my breathing shallow, and soon I'm dizzy.
When he finishes tying my hands together, he shoves me onto my back, out of sight from the windows. "If I hear you move, I'll tie you up even more, and I'll make sure it'll be in the most uncomfortable position possible. So just fucking lie there." Then he slides into the driver's seat and starts the truck.
As soon as I'm sure he's focused on the road, I work my hands against the rope, but all it does is turn the pressure against my wrists into a raw sear. I don't know how long he drives, only that we're going further into the desert from the sound of the dirt under the tires. I'm trying to keep calm, trying not to think of what'll happen when he pulls over, but the fear is so bad, my heart feels ready to burst.
By the time the truck slows to a stop, my wrists are rubbed raw. Valentine doesn't say anything when he grabs me by the hair, fingers digging into my scalp as he drags me into the front seat. And he doesn't say anything when I snarl and fight, managing to rake one of his arms with my fingernails.
Only after I fall limp, hyperventilating against the collar, does he speak. "It's no match at all, you know. A wolf bitch and a human female."
It's almost worse that he touches me like this, thumb tracing a line down my throat ever so gently. "Girls are convenient. You can find one at every corner, and they all taste the same. Sweet and quick, like a sugar rush."
I flinch back from the feel of his tongue, straining to growl against the panic filling me up. I have to get out of here, somehow I have to get out.
"But a bitch will last a long time, burning more with each bite until she finally breaks. And once she does, her taste becomes fantastic." His hand tightens, pulling my head back until my neck is bared, the collar tight, choking. His mouth bristles with fangs.
I'm scrabbling at the seat, unable to believe that there's not one more chance out of this, one more way to escape. Then his teeth sink in, and once I start screaming, I can't stop.