Page 33 of White Noise

“That being afraid of me isn’t stopping your body from enjoying what happens when I touch you.”

My stomach drops.

“Fuck you.”

His fingers tighten slightly in my hair.

“You know what’s really eating at you?” His voice drops, low and cruel. “It isn’t that I scare you. You could hate me for that. You could make me the monster and sleep just fine.”

“Shut up.”

His thumb drags slowly across my cheek, and another pulse of static sinks beneath my skin.

“But this?” His mouth curls. “This ruins that pretty little story, doesn’t it?”

My breath catches.

He leans closer, forcing me to hold his gaze.

“You’re backed against a wall with a knife in your hand, and your body still fucking reacts when I touch you.”

“Get away from me.”

“No.” His grip firms. “I want you to feel exactly how little control you have over that.”

The current rolls through me again, stronger this time, and my knees threaten to soften.

Silas’s expression darkens with satisfaction.

“Fuck, look at you.” His voice turns almost mocking. “Scared enough to stab me, turned on enough to hate yourself for it.”

Something inside me snaps.

“I warned you.”

His attention flicks to the knife.

Too late.

Silas moves toward me at the same moment I swing.

The blade slices across his eye.

A violent shock races through the metal and straight into my hand.

“Fuck!”

My fingers fly open and the knife hits the floor.

For half a second, I can’t move. My entire arm tingles like I shoved it into a live socket, the sensation buzzing all the way to my shoulder.

Then I look at Silas.

The cut runs from above his eye toward his cheek.

But there’s no blood. Not a single fucking drop.

The edges of the wound distort instead, tiny threads of white static flickering beneath what should be skin before settling back into place.