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“I know,” he says, looking me up and down. “I didn’t even recognize you. What the fuck happened to your tattoos? Why are you so pale? You trying to change your appearance or something?”
I blink at him. “No? Why?”
“Of all people, I thought I’d see you on the news, out there looking for Elle,” he says bitterly. “A post on your Facebook, something. But it’s like you don’t even care that she’s gone.”
I shake my head, feeling panic flood through me. “I don’t have anything to do with Elle’s disappearance. I didn’t kill her.”
He stares at me for a moment. “I never said anything about her being killed…”
Fuck.
“Well that’s what you’re implying,” I say hurriedly. “That’s what everyone is thinking. That she’s dead.”
He looks down at my arms and legs, though I know he can’t see as well in the shadows like I can. “All your tattoos are gone,” he says in a whisper. “All of them.”
I swallow uneasily, my heart starting to race, my adrenaline picking up.
Something awful and dark is starting to spread inside my gut.
“I got tired of them,” I lie. “They were easy to remove. I wanted a fresh start.”
“A fresh start for what?”
“I don’t know, I thought maybe I wouldn’t be taken seriously as a museum curator,” I say, lying through my teeth, starting to panic. That darkness is spreading up me now, turning into a form of hunger.
The thing is, I’m not the only here with adrenaline running high. His is too and I can smell it, smell his fear, smell it coming out of his pores, smell it in his blood. The scent is flipping a switch on inside me, a thirst that wasn’t there before.
Oh no.
I should go.
I really, really should.
“You’re full of shit,” he sneers at me. “You know Beth told me you were a total bitch to her last time you saw her.”
My mouth drops open in shock. “Excuse me?” I cry out. “Beth told you that? She came up to me, understandably angry because you told her that I kissed you when it was you that kissed me!”
He shakes his head, looking away. “However you choose to remember it, that’s not how it happened.”
I blink with wide eyes, anger rushing through my veins. I shove him hard and he falls onto the ground. “You kissed me,” I hiss at him, stepping over him. “Don’t twist the facts because your sorry little tech bro ego can’t handle the rejection.”
“What the fuck, you bitch,” Matt spits out, scrambling to his feet. “I can’t believe I ever went out with you, you’re fucking weird and fucking crazy.”
None of this is computing. Matt, who was always so nice and easy-going and chill, doesn’t seem to be any of those things anymore. Now I’m starting to realize it was some sort of act, the nice guy persona a dude will put up in order to win someone over, often lamenting that “nice guys finish last” when things don’t go their way.
“And you’re a manipulative asshole,” I growl at him, the anger now lashing through me in a way I can’t control, swiftly turning to insatiable hunger. As lust and blood intertwine, I’m discovering it’s the same for blood and rage.
“Lenore,” I hear Solon’s voice warn from the background.
But he’s too late.
I lunge at Matt, grabbing his head with my hand and yanking it to the side, sinking my teeth right into his neck.
He tries to yelp but I already have my hand at his mouth, smothering his cries, the noise buried by the music thumping out from the club. His blood flows freely from his neck into my mouth and I’m draining him as quickly as I can, fueled by hunger and revenge and—
Suddenly Solon’s hands are wrapping around me, pulling me back, my fangs unhooking, and it’s then that I realize what I’ve done.
It’s also then that Matt realizes it too.
He stares at me in horror, hand at his neck to stop the bleeding, staggering on his feet. I didn’t take enough, he won’t die, but he’s looking at me like he wishes he were dead. He at least wishes I were dead.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, trying to spit up the rest of the blood in my mouth, the taste suddenly disagreeing with me. It’s not Solon’s blood, it doesn’t bring me life in the same way. This belongs to a shallow, manipulative, ingenuine boy with whom I never had any chemistry to begin with.
And with blood, chemistry is everything.
“You psychopath,” Matt says, his voice ragged, wincing from the pain. “You killed Elle, didn’t you? You did the same to her, didn’t you?”
I shake my head, tears rushing to my eyes. “No, I didn’t kill her, I didn’t kill her, I loved her, I swear to you.”
“Lenore,” Solon says, his voice a command.
Both Matt and I look at him. He’s never looked more like a warrior—or a mob boss, chin raised high, eyes dark and focused on Matt, steady as a rock.
