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I feel like I should lie but what would be the point?
“Yes.”
“And where were you born?”
“Here. Well, in Daly City.”
His eyes narrow as he studies me for a long moment. I can almost feel his gaze penetrating my brain, as if he’s able to look inside me and sift around.
“Are you sure about that?” he asks quietly.
Now I’m confused. “Of course I’m sure.”
“Why, because you have a birth certificate?”
I blink. “Yeah…and that’s what I’ve been told. It says so on my birth certificate, on my passport. What are you implying?” I pause, realization dawning on me. “Wait. You’re with him, aren’t you?”
“With him?”
“Atlas Poe.”
His brows go up in surprise. “Atlas Poe?” he repeats harshly.
Not the reaction I was expecting.
He comes closer, stares me down, his cold eyes turning fiery. “What do you know of Atlas Poe?”
“Nothing…” I say, wishing I had some clever lie but all I have is the truth. “He was…he was outside my house one night. Late. Wanting to talk to my parents. Said he was an associate of theirs, a member of some guild.”
“And then what did you do?” He’s staring at me so intently I feel my skin burn.
“I told him to call, send an email. He walked off. I never saw him again.” I hesitate, not sure how much I should tell this man. “I asked my mom about him, but she pretended she never knew him. But I could tell she did. She was lying to me.”
Oh god, why am I telling him that? What the fuck is making me talk?
He keeps staring at me, slowly running his hand over his strong jaw, the scratchy sound of his facial hair loud in the room. “You really have no idea…” he muses.
“Idea about what?”
He crouches down so he’s at my level, a foot away, wrists draped over each other. “The world. Your world, that is.”
I stare at him, at his perfectly put-together face. The man looks like an angel and a devil combined, the best of both worlds. I recall kicking him right in the nose, wishing I had my boots on so I could do it again.
But he doesn’t look like he’s been kicked in the face.
I remember blood.
He should be black and blue.
He doesn’t have a scratch on him.
“I hurt you,” I say hoarsely. “I broke your nose.”
“You did,” he says with a tired sigh. “But my nose has been broken countless times. Try not to feel too proud.”
I stare back at him, feeling all the anger seething through me, hot and rabid.
“Ah,” he says quickly, eyeing me. “There she is again. Do you know what you’re doing, Lenore?” I clench my teeth together, breathing hard, that anger building. “You’re becoming something you wouldn’t believe. In fact, I don’t know if I quite believe it myself. You’re full of surprises.”
“You don’t fucking know me enough to be surprised,” I sneer at him.
And before I can stop myself, I’m bringing saliva up into my mouth and I spit on him.
My spit lands right on his cheek.
He flinches, nostrils flaring, but his eyes don’t leave mine. He calmly reaches up and wipes the spit off with his long forefinger.
Then he sticks his finger in front of his mouth, lips parting, pink tongue sliding out, licking it off. His teeth show in a snarl, the sharpest canines I’ve ever seen.
What the fuck is wrong with him?
“You’re right,” he says. “But I will. Maybe it will be too late, but I will.”
He exhales, wiping his finger against his tailored pants.
And with him distracted, I take my chance.
Fueled by adrenaline, the need to escape, to live, I suddenly get to my feet and start running for the door, screaming.
I make it halfway across the room.
Then he comes at me from the side somehow, just a blur, his hand wrapped around my throat. He pushes me back, back, like he’s just gliding over the floor until I’m pressed up against the wall, my head smashing against it.
His grip tightens, almost all the way around my neck, and he’s holding me up high, several feet off the floor, my toes dangling, and I can’t breathe, can’t speak.
“Believe it or not, I’m a very violent creature,” he hisses as he leans into me, eyes burning. “I will not hesitate to tear your throat out with my own teeth, despite what I promised myself I wouldn’t do. If you want to test me, you will be tested, and you’ll fail with your life.”
My fingers go to his hand, trying to pry them off me, trying in vain.
“I know what I want,” he continues, breathing hard. “But frankly, you might not be worth it.”
But he doesn’t let go of me, doesn’t let up the pressure. I think he means to kill me right here, just like this, strangling me with one bare hand. He could break my neck with a little more pressure, and he’s staring at me like he wants me to die. I know he’ll enjoy it.
