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Shall I only have a look, or will I say something? she wondered. "Ooooh I loved your poem." Instantly she felt like playing wicked games. She put a sway in her walk. Maybe I'll make him look.
The boy to Aiden's left noticed her first. He was a burly blond with a good-natured face and eyes that glazed over slightly at her approach. Vivian couldn't resist, she winked, and his cheeks turned pink. It was so easy. The other kid, wearing some kind of funny lopsided haircut, kept on yakking away, but the girl looked over and wrinkled her nose. She was small, with close-cropped dark hair - the sort of girl that wore black stockings even on days like these. I'll put a few more runs in those tights, honey, if you look at me like that again, Vivian promised silently.
Then Aiden Teague turned around to see what had captured his friends' attention. The crystal stud in his left ear reflected the sun in a burst of rainbow, and his slow easy smile sent a shock through her.
She was staring, she knew, but his face was delicious. His eyes were amused and dreamy, as if observing life from the outside and finding it vaguely funny. He seemed languid, not intense like the Five - those jangly, nervy, twitching, squirming, fighting, snapping, sharp-edged creatures who demanded so much from her. She noticed his tall dancer's frame and his long-fingered hands, and the thought crossed her mind that she would enjoy him touching her.
"Do I know you?" he asked. He waited expectantly, a bemused look on his face.
Chapter 3
3
Vivian said the first thing that came into her head. "Um. I liked your poem in The Trumpet." I don't believe that stupid sentence came out of my mouth, she thought.
"Hey, thanks," Aiden said. He still looked puzzled.
He'd not a werewolf, she thought in dismay. How can I react this way when he'd not one of us? His smell of sweet perspiration and soap was purely human. Get a grip, girl, Vivian told herself. She didn't like this off-balance feeling. She put a hand on her hip and dared his dark eyes to try and drown her now. "Your poem was facing a print of mine. I was glad I wasn't next to some trash."
The blond kid brayed with laughter.
"Shut up, Quince," Aiden said, but he grinned.
"That was like some forest scene, wasn't it?" the kid with the funny haircut said. "Spooky, man."
The dark-haired girl put a hand on Aiden's arm. "Bingo's waiting for us."
"Hold on, Kelly." Aiden gently disengaged his arm, and the girl frowned sulkily. "Cool picture," he said to Vivian. "It's like you read my mind."
"That's what I thought about your poem," Vivian answered. Her response to him was disturbing but she wanted to explore it. She took his hand and turned it up, then ran her nails down the length of his fingers. He didn't resist.
"What are you going to do, tell my fortune?" Aiden asked.
"Yes," she answered. She slid a felt pen from her purse. Then, while he watched mesmerized, she wrote her phone number in his palm. On a whim she outlined it with a five-pointed star.
"What's that?" Quince said. "You Jewish or something?"
"Nah," said Aiden softly. "That's a pentagram."
"So she's a witch," Kelly snapped.
No, my dear, Vivian thought. You don't watch enough Late-night movies. The person who sees a pentagram in his palm becomes a werewolf's victim.
"Are you a witch?" Aiden asked, his eyes twinkling.
Her voice was husky. "Why don't you find out?" She folded his hand around the sign that made him hers. Inside, her heart was thumping crazily in response to her charade, but she refused to lose her nerve.
As she walked away she heard Kelly raise her voice, but she didn't bother listening. Was that his girlfriend then? He could do better. Much better.
All afternoon her thoughts returned to him like a song she couldn't get out of her head. After a while it became annoying. What am I, a pervert? she asked herself. He was human, for Moon's sake - half a person.
It's only a game, she told herself, to see if I can snare him. But she wanted to know what was in a human head to make him write that poem, and she wanted to know why he'd stolen the breath from her lips.
As she reached home the front door opened. Gabriel, the inspiration for her mother's latest fight, was leaving. He filled the door frame, blocking her way. His T-shirt clung to his wide chest.
"Hi, Viv," he said. "Lookin' good." His voice rumbled like lazy thunder.
The teasing in his blue eyes made her want to spit. "Save that for Esmé."
