by Deanna Chase
Abel glared. “I didn’t scream like a girl. She caught me unawares. Grabbed my arm and twisted it up like a pretzel, broke every single bone.” He pouted, flexing his arm up and down gingerly.
Kids, most of whom Flint had no idea who they were though she vaguely recognized a face or two, patted her on the back and told her they’d been thinking of her. She nodded, then turned her back against her locker and whispered so only Abel could hear.
“Who was she?”
Abel’s Abercrombie & Fitch plaid button-down shirt slid open as he rubbed his hand through his hair. “Adam says she worked for the circus, but I’m telling you, Flint, I’ve never seen her before in my life. And I freaking live there. And she smelled funny.”
She lifted her brows excitedly. “Like sour milk?”
“Yeah.” He looked at her, perplexed. “How’d you know?”
“Because I smelled her too.”
The first bell rang. Flint sighed and opened her locker, pulling out books. “I can’t talk to my dad about it, because well… I don’t think he’d understand, but something was weird about that night.”
She glanced at Abel from the corner of her eye. Of all the people she’d met here, he definitely seemed the most normal. But if something was up at the circus of the damned, shouldn’t he know? He did live there, like he said.
Was Abel one of them? And she still didn’t have a clue what a them even was. At this point she wasn’t ruling out zombie, vampire, werewolf, maybe even a fallen angel, or whatever other supernatural creature was popular at the moment.
“Yeah.” He dropped his eyes. “Look, I’ve got to get to class. Talk to you at lunch?”
She nodded. “Glad you’re okay.” She squeezed his good arm.
“Glad you’re alive.” He gave her his dimpled grin and then disappeared into the crowd.
Flint had barely a second to spare before the tardy bell rang.
Mr. Wickham’s raised eyebrows were oddly comforting.
“Sorry,” she mumbled and took her seat, refusing to look at Cain, who was already sitting in his seat.
But of course that resolution lasted all of one minute.
While Mr. Wickham blathered on about something, she looked at Cain. His hair was messy again, shading a corner of his eye while he rubbed his thumb and index finger along his lower lip. He was staring out the window, and she knew he couldn’t see anything; the windows were frosted, which meant he was giving her the brush-off.
“Whatever,” she muttered; at least she hadn’t dressed nice today. Standard skinny jeans, cashmere sage-green sweater, and boots.
Okay, so maybe she’d dressed a little nice.
But her hair was up in a bun.
“What is the most important rule in chemistry?” Mr. Wickham looked around the room. “Never lick the spoon.”
Someone in front groaned.
“That’s right—tomorrow we’ll be using our Bunsen burners. But today, pop quiz.”
Flint slouched in her seat. First day back, it figured.
But when Mr. Wickham walked up to her desk, he said, “Ms. DeLuca, good to see you back. No test for you today. Open your book and read.”
She was about to say thanks when she caught a whiff of something sweet. Sniffing, she frowned as she watched him walk back to the front of the room. It was him. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but she knew. He smelled sweet. Like sweet milk.
Now that she smelled it, Flint grew paranoid. Maybe it wasn’t him.
Trying to be discreet, she sniffed her wrist, suddenly aware of Cain’s eyes on her.
Had she spilled cereal milk on herself?
But she knew she hadn’t.
Biting her lower lip, she stared at Mr. Wickham. He must have felt her look, because he glanced up and lifted his brows.
Even though he was wearing glasses, his eyes weren’t bloodshot.
She grabbed her forehead. Not sure why it bothered her so much, Flint squeezed her eyes shut. It shouldn’t matter. It was just a smell. Like Cain’s woods, or her dad’s aftershave. But it bothered her.
“Princess?”
She looked at Cain; he wore a question on his face.
Not wanting to deal with him and his hot-and-cold attitude she forced her eyes back to the book in front of her.
~*~
By the time she hit gym class, Flint knew something weird was happening to her. She’d always been strong and graceful. Two skills she’d learned growing up a flier, but today when she’d climbed the rope, it had felt like someone had stuck her in an antigravity chamber she’d climbed up it so easily.
And when she’d hit the rock-climbing wall, she’d moved like a monkey, resting all her weight on her toes and fingers only.
She never even broke a sweat. Coach had been impressed, asking her if she’d ever considered track and field.
But not only was she stronger, ever since smelling Mr. Wickham, smells were stronger. And she smelled freaking milk everywhere.
Sweet milk.
Her stomach had started growling constantly. It’d been so bad in English that she’d lied to the teacher and said she had to go to the bathroom, but instead she’d raced to the snack vendor and bought a bag of powdered donuts, then finished them off in seconds.
Now it was lunch, and her stomach was growling again.
“Umm, are you planning to get any of the five major food groups other than sugar?” Janet eyed her tray when she sat down.
“Huh?” Flint studied her tray, only just realizing what she’d grabbed. A container of chocolate pudding, two candy bars, a bear claw, and three cartons of chocolate milk. “I was…”
“Gross.” Rhiannon eyed her tray with a curled nose. Her blond hair was gathered back in a tight braid, making her eyes appear more catlike.
Flint pried her carton open, studying Rhiannon’s eyes beneath her lashes. They were a pretty blue. Nothing abnormal about them. But then something gold caught her eye, and as Flint chugged the first carton of milk, she realized what.
The design on the pendant hanging from the chain was the same as the one on Janet’s gold cuff bracelets. She’d not spoken much to either Janet or Rhiannon since the night of the shadow incident, so it was with an anxious stomach that she asked, “Janet, where did you say you got that bracelet again?”
Janet and Rhi glanced at one another, a swift look, but odd enough for Flint to notice.
Abel spoke up. “You okay, Flint? You’re eating like me today.”
“What?”
In her hand was the pudding cup.
When had she even opened it? And when had she finished the milk? All the cartons were open and empty; the pudding was half-gone. She hadn’t tasted any of it.
Rubbing her neck as a cold chill washed through her, Flint jerked to her feet. “I’ve got to… umm.” She looked at her tray, then grabbed the candy and stuffed it into her pocket. “Yeah, I gotta go.”
“Flint!” Abel called, but she didn’t stop.
Flint ran outside toward the bleachers, not out of breath when she got there, but feeling the panic rush through her lungs. The second she got to the bleachers, she was hungry again. She tugged the now-squishy candy out of her pocket, then tore open the wrapper and scarfed the chocolate down, then proceeded to do the same to the second one.
Licking her fingers, feeling like a disgusting pig, she groaned and dropped her face into her hands.
What was going on with her?
“Flint?”
She didn’t need to look to know who’d said her name.
“What, Cain?” His name came out muffled between her fingers.
Cain pried her hands off her face and then slid his sunglasses off, his eyes gently probing her face. The scent of corn and car exhaust smacked her in the nose. She trembled. Maybe her dad was right and she was suffering some sort of PTSD, maybe she hadn’t been ready to come back.
“I think we need to talk.”
She lifted a brow, not in the mood for his games or his crap. “So talk.”
He was kneeling, looking over his shoulder at the cafeteria. The blond surfer twins were standing by the door. A jerk of his head sent Tweedledee and Tweedledum back inside, then he stood and held out his hand.
“Not here.”
“I know you’re not asking me to ditch, especially not after what happened last time.”
He sighed. “You’ll be safe with me, princess.”
Still feeling obstinate, she eyed him hard. “I was safe with your brother too. If you recall nothing happened to me until you,” she said, stressing the word, “took me to the circus. So maybe you’re the jinx. And you know what, I’m really not in the mood today. I’m not feeling good.”
She was feeling hungry again. Cramps twisted her stomach.
“You weren’t as safe as you thought. You want to know about those red eyes?”
That immediately got her attention. “What do you know about that?”
He turned and started walking toward the school parking lot. The message was clear—stay and learn nothing, or follow and maybe figure something out.
Disgusted by her actions, Flint stood and followed him. Teenagers really were stupid sometimes, because obviously she hadn’t learned her lesson with Cain. Hot and cold. Mean and caring. And she never knew which Cain she was going to get.
They were in the car, and she knew where they were headed before he even turned out of the lot. To his woods. Which she now strongly associated as their place. The place where, when they were there, Cain became the guy she actually liked to be around.
Stomach twirling with more than just a case of the munchies, she nibbled on her lip as the tense silence stretched between them.
“Last time you said the school called my dad. I really can’t do this to him again. I’m just lucky I nearly got killed—got me out of a year’s worth of grounding.”
A strange sort of snarl rumbled through his chest as he shifted gears, making the ride feel like it’d kicked into hyperdrive. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” she asked, confused.
He looked at her. “Make a joke about it.”
Heart fluttering like wings in her throat, she asked, “Why do you care?”
Cain was staring back at the road. “I just do.”
She knew they were close when the thick grove of trees appeared around them. This was wrong. If her dad found out, he’d be devastated, and yet she couldn’t pretend that she’d rather be anywhere else at the moment.
Then they were pulling onto the gravel road, and it felt to her like nobody else existed on the planet except the two of them. It was quiet, devoid of any other life. It was just them and the trees, and the thought shot a heady thrill down her spine.
When he parked, she opened the door and stepped out. There were still tree branches scattered all around from the storm, but the wind smelled of wildflowers and damp earth. Flint turned her face into it, closing her eyes for a split second, grateful not to be smelling milk or car fumes. Then his scent of moss and pine and clover teased her, made her lashes flutter open.
He was staring at her, gazing into her eyes, and she couldn’t have moved even if she’d wanted to. Pinned between the open car door and his body, she felt his heat push against her, making it hard for her to know where she began and he ended.
In that moment, Cain was all she could see or think about.
His hands were gentle as he rested them against her cheeks, the pads of his palms rough but exciting, making her body squirm with nervous anticipation.
Then he was pulling her into his hard chest and she wanted to fight it, this… whatever it was. Wanted to yell at him to leave her alone, stop screwing with her mind, her heart, but she did none of that. She sighed and wrapped her arms around his back, resting her head on his chest, entranced by the steady rhythm of his pulse.
All too soon, the hug ended and he was leading her to the bunker. Again she saw the tensile strength of his biceps flex as he pulled the wooden door up. This time, he went in first and she followed. He pulled the hatch back down, blocking out the sunlight completely. It was dark, but he held her hand as he led them down the long flight of steps.
His scent was everywhere—her nose, her hair, her clothes. It made her dizzy and happy. Cain led her to the inflatable couch, then he left just long enough to turn on the lantern. It was like they were back in that night. She smiled and glanced at the stack of towels, remembering.
“That day, when you told me you found me because of my smell.” She held her breath, feeling stupid for even asking. “Were you serious?”
Flint expected him to clam up like he’d done so many times before. He sat next to her, so close their thighs touched, and she couldn’t help the shiver that raced through her.
“Yes.” His eyes narrowed. “I saw you this morning. When Wickham walked by.”
She cocked her head, chewing on the inside of her cheek, feeling the strange urge to deny it, but knowing she needed to be honest if she had any hope of getting any information from him.
He licked his teeth. “Saw you at lunch too, eating all that sugar. It bit you—it did something to you?”
“It?” She swallowed hard, almost afraid where this was leading.
Cain scrubbed his hard jaw with his closed fist. “We call it hive, because of how they live. But their real names are the Aswang.”
There was a rabbit thumping in her chest, because no way could a heart beat as fast as hers was right now. “The Aswang?”
His jaw was clenched so tight that Flint sensed he didn’t want to tell her any of what he was about to say.
Tossing her a box, he sat back, then stared ahead.
Flint gave a pathetic laugh when she saw what it was. A box of granola bars. Reaching inside, she grabbed one and started to nibble on it.
“The Aswang are a sort of vampiric race.”
She coughed, bits of granola stuck in her throat. It was one thing to think it, because just thinking didn’t make you nuts, but it was another to hear someone actually speak it. “Do you mean like those Goths that dress up and wear fake teeth?”
He shot her a “come on” look. “No, princess. Porcelain teeth can’t rip hypodermic style into your neck.”
Trying to remain calm, even though her hands were shaking, she asked, “So what are they exactly? And are you one?” Her stomach, still hungry, was also full of sick nerves. But she had to know the truth. “Because your eyes are red too.”
He smirked. “That’s why I wear the glasses.”
Flint pulled away ever so slightly, very aware that she was trapped underground with a—
“But I’m not Aswang.”
Her racing pulse slowed a notch. “So what are you?” She was eating the granola, more to distract herself than anything else, still not completely trusting that he was telling her the truth. Afraid that maybe he was.
Cain pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know where to start with this.” His eyes were hard, still light blue, but a dark rim began to spread around the edges.
She finished the granola bar and tore the wrapper off another one. He stared at her, which made her all sorts of self-conscious, especially because she was already two bites away from finishing the bar.
“You gonna speak, or just stare at me like I grew a third eye?” she mumbled and swallowed. The rest of the box called to her, but Flint forced herself to set it aside.
“What do you know about vampires?”
“Only that they sparkle, holy water makes their skin fall off, and they hate the smell of garlic. Am I close?”
He laughed and so did she. Cain looked shocked, as if he hadn’t expected that answer.
“Funny,” he muttered and then sighed, and she noticed his eyes once again returned to normal.
“I’m not supposed to be talking to you about any of this,” he said finally.
“Then why did you bring me here?”
He searched her face. “Because I think part of you already knows. You’ve been followed by them.”<
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Flint thought back to all the times she’d seen red eyes and had shrugged it off, chalking it up to poor lighting or exhaustion. “How long?”
“Since the day I met you.”
“Why? Do I smell tasty or something? Is that why she attacked me? Should I perfume myself with holy garlic?”
His lips twitched. “I don’t know why they’ve taken an interest in you. I’ve been trying to figure that out.”
When he moved, it brought their bodies into close contact. Everywhere he touched her, she was hyperaware, and her breathing came harder, filling her lungs with more of his intoxicating scent.
“I’m confused. They’re vampires. But you’re not one. You call them hive and Aswang. What exactly is going on in this town, Cain?”
Rubbing his hands on his pants, he said, “This history is long and convoluted. It all started with Adam.”
“Your dad?” She frowned. “Is he a vampire?”
Cain shook his head. “No. He belongs to a race of people called the Nephilim.”
She sucked in a breath. Because even though she hadn’t been to Mass in forever, there wasn’t a Catholic around who hadn’t heard about the demon-human abominations. “Your dad’s a demon!” she squeaked. “So that means you’re a… a…”
The muscle in his jaw tensed. “A quarter. Yes.”
“Oh my God.” She got up, the sugar in her system making her feel the urge to vomit or pace. So she chose to pace.
She’d been obsessing over a demon. A fire and brimstone, forked-tailed, cloven-hooved… demon.
“Flint,” he said softly, “you can trust me.”
She didn’t look at him. “I thought you guys were fairy tales, that ya know… you were like the boogeyman or something. Made up to scare us.” She licked her lips as her speed increased. Back and forth between the shelves, afraid to look at him. Somehow feeling that now that he’d told her who he really was, his skin would turn red and a pronged tail would grow from his behind.
“Princess, stop walking. This is hard enough without you acting crazy about it.”
“Crazy?” She refused to believe the high-pitched giggle had just come from her. “I was thinking vampires, not demons and not”—she waved her hand at him—“you.”
Flint pinched the bridge of her nose. She would not panic. He was talking. That’s what she’d wanted all along. And though this was nowhere near what she’d imagined, she had to listen without acting like a silly little girl about it.