by Deanna Chase
“I’d hate to fracture your puny human ego. I’ll pass.”
She rolled her eyes. “Admit it, Cain, you’re embarrassed. It’s okay.”
He chuckled. “Are you baiting me?”
She tucked her cold hands into her pockets. The wind had whipped up at some point. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was slightly chilly. Add to that she was sweaty from jumping and running, and she couldn’t stop the cold that zipped through her and made her shake.
Cain was by her side in a second. “You hungry?”
He was so big, blocking most of the wind from hitting her, and he smelled good. Better than the woods they were surrounded by. Flint was beginning to suspect the smell was uniquely his, not a result of him tramping through the trees, but his unique scent.
“Always,” she groaned.
“I’ve got some rations in the bunker.”
She cocked her head. “Only if you show me what you got.”
His lascivious smirk brought a hot flush to her cheeks.
“Now whose mind is in the gutter?” she asked with a voice grown breathy.
Snorting, he walked over to the tree she’d just climbed. Looking straight at her, he slapped the trunk. He didn’t bum-rush it, didn’t pull back and flex his hips, throwing all his weight and momentum into it, just slapped it.
The sound of groaning, cracking wood reverberated like gunshot around them. Which was impressive all in itself, but then with one final moan, the tree swayed and dropped like a stone—slicing jaggedly down the middle—to the ground.
His smirk was both sexy and infuriating.
“After you,” he said, still wearing the smug look on his face.
“Show-off,” she muttered.
Then he reached beneath his shirt and pulled out a wicked-long Buck knife and handed it to her hilt first. “Somebody might have mentioned to me that you’ve got skills when it comes to knives and swords. I’m interested to see it for myself.”
Her lips twitched when she took the blade from him. The steel was finely honed, and when she flicked the tip of her finger against the edge, she hissed as a thin band of crimson blossomed open. Rolling her eyes, she flicked the blade up in the air, grabbing it smoothly before it fell to the ground.
“I might know a thing or two. What exactly do you want to see?”
Lifting a brow, she could have sworn she’d seen a look of pride flash across his face. Of course, it was probably totally in her head, but whatever. She chose to go with pride.
“Mm.” He turned, squinting one eye as he glanced around and then jerked a finger out, pointing at a dark notch of wood in a tree ten yards or so away. “That. Hit it dead-on. Or at least try.”
“And what do I get if I do it?” She grinned, still flipping the blade around her hand.
It’d been a while since she’d played with knives. But just like tightrope walking and parkour, it wasn’t a hobby she’d entirely given up on either.
Stepping into her, so close that his heat completely invaded her senses, his look turned suddenly serious and intense, making her toes go numb as all the blood rushed to her head.
“I need to know that if something or someone comes at you again and I’m not there”—he thinned his lips, raising a hand and then dropping it after seeming to think better of the urge—“that you can still defend yourself.”
Feeling a lot like a balloon that’d just lost all its air, she nodded. She loved this intimacy with him, but man, was it so bad that she was beyond ready to move to second base already? A little boob-grab never killed anybody, seriously.
But then she had the unfortunate memory of her dad telling her to “wrap it up, DeLuca,” and that pretty much killed her mood instantly.
Stepping out of his reach, she plastered on a bright smile, determined to snap out of this funk one way or another. “Be prepared to have your mind blown, rage boy.”
His smile completely transformed his features. God, the man was gorgeous.
Frowning, she shut down those thoughts, turned on her heel, and then took a deep, steady breath, recalling Evan’s words.
Steady but loose wrist. Heft its weight just slightly, to the point that it almost feels like it’s going to fall out of your hand. Square up the blade to the target. Keep both eyes open. Release your breath. And…
The easily eight-inch blade sank like a hot knife through butter into the notch.
“Well?” She twirled back to him and gave a small bow before turning to retrieve the weapon.
His laugh followed in her wake.
Yeah, she’d blown his mind.
~*~
Ten minutes later, they were sitting back inside the bunker, white lights on and filling the room with a surreal fluorescent glow.
Cain ripped open a brown bag, then handed it to her. She looked at the black block lettering on it.
“Chicken parm?” She raised a brow. “In a bag? My grandpa would roll in his grave.”
He grinned and her heart banged hard against her ribs. He was doing that a lot. Smiling, laughing. It was nice.
“MREs suck but they’re filling.” He handed her a plastic fork.
Wrinkling her nose, Flint eyed the contents dubiously. There were five separate pouches within the plastic. The first one she pulled out was Chicken, the next one was labeled Crackers, another one read Cheese, there was a pouch that contained a fun-size bag of candy, salt and pepper, and a teeny-tiny Tobasco bottle. The final packet read Cocoa. Each was bound in a beige wrapper.
“And you’re supposed to eat this?”
Rolling his eyes, he snatched up the chicken, tore the corner open with his blunt teeth, and handed it to her. “Try it.”
The smell was obnoxious. Like ten-day-old leftovers. Her mouth turned down.
“I knew you were a princess.” He said it with the thread of a dare in his voice.
“I’m not even sure roaches can survive on this stuff, Cain.” She looked at him. “So you told me your secrets, now you’re trying to kill me?”
He snorted. “Funny.”
Taking the pouch, she decided she’d get that know-it-all look off his face once and for all. Lifting her chin, saying a quick prayer that she wouldn’t develop food poisoning, she dipped the plastic spoon into the pouch and brought the lukewarm red-and-brown mush to her mouth.
The gag was immediate and hard. Her nostrils flared as she forced her mouth to chew what it so desperately wanted to spew out. The chicken—and calling it that felt sacrilegious—was cold, tasteless, and she wasn’t even certain at this point it was meat. Tears gathered in her eyes, and then Cain was laughing harder than she’d ever seen him before.
“You should see your face. All puffy, like a chipmunk.”
Choking the nastiness down, she huffed, wishing she had a tongue scraper to get the rest off. “Water,” she wheezed.
Grabbing a bottle by his foot, he twisted the cap off and handed it to her. His eyes were shiny as his laughter finally got back under control.
Flint practically poured the water down her throat, swishing it around a few times, until all that remained was the slight bitter aftertaste.
“I can’t believe you actually ate that.”
She tensed. “You mean, you don’t—”
“Just the crackers and candy. The rest is god-awful.”
“Oh, I hate you!” She punched his arm, feeling his bicep flex in response.
She wanted to stay mad and might have except his humor was contagious, and before she knew it, she was joining him.
“You really suck, Cain.”
“You should know better than to trust a monster.” He winked.
Winked!
She wanted to squeal like a fan girl. Her insides were having a massive riot, and wings fluttered in her throat.
Flint wasn’t sure this new him was any better than the old him. If he kept it up, being nice, she’d fall hard and fast. And she wasn’t sure giving her heart to something like him was good for her health.
“Here.” He t
ook the packages off her lap, then tore open the bag that held the candy. “They taste a little stale, but otherwise, they’re decent.”
She eyed the thing like he was trying to hand her a chunk of kryptonite.
He had really nice lips, especially when he smiled.
“Don’t believe me?” He sounded mock outraged.
“My taste buds still haven’t recovered.”
He popped a piece of candy in his mouth and chewed. “See. No problem.”
Deliberating, she twisted her lips. He popped another one in his mouth, hard jaw working as he crunched it down.
“I’m gonna finish them all, princess, and when I do, you can’t complain.” He took another one out.
She snatched the hard green candy from his hand and swallowed it. He was right, it wasn’t bad. So long as you considered stale chocolate a delicacy. Shrugging, Flint took the bag out of his hand and nibbled on the last few.
“So I can climb faster, run harder,” she mused. “Will this be permanent?”
He leaned back. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I’ve still got Eli trying to find out whatever else he can on you. But you’re special. One of a kind.”
She knew he didn’t mean it the way she wanted to take it, but that didn’t stop the flush from spreading up her neck.
“There’s a dance next week,” she said, toying with the frayed edge of the now-empty bag. “You going?”
“Homecoming?” He shook his head. “I don’t dance.”
“Yeah, me either.” She gave a nervous laugh, wishing she hadn’t said anything. Of course he wouldn’t go, not Cain. She could never picture him in a tux and bow tie. Though her stomach gave a flip when she tried.
“What do you do most nights?”
He inhaled deeply, his entire body seeming relaxed. Uptight Cain was sexy, relaxed Cain… sexy as Jaime Fraser on his wedding night.
“I hunt hive. Though lately most of my leads have dried up.” His lips twisted with disgust.
“Does Adam know you’ve told me all this stuff?”
He glanced at her from out the corner of his blue eye. “Yeah.”
“Was he mad?”
“What’s he gonna do about it? You know too much, saw too much. At this point you were more of a liability not knowing. It was either tell you or kill you.”
She really hated that it bothered her when he said things like that. Just because he’d told her secrets about his world didn’t mean he liked her, didn’t mean he had any motive other than what he’d already admitted to earlier. The hive was following her and with no new leads, she was his last chance at finding more information.
“So why didn’t you kill me?” she grumped. “Seems like it would have solved all your—”
He snatched her hand as she swung it in frustration, squeezing it tightly but gently. “Never say that.”
Heart pounding so violently in her chest that she could taste adrenaline on her tongue, she nibbled her bottom lip. Kiss me, Cain. If those words mean what I think they mean. Then freaking just do it already…
The air between them was charged, electric, sparking so hot that she felt it like tiny little pulses rubbing against her skin.
But rather than lean in, he let her go.
Rubbing her temple, she frowned. “It’s getting late. I really need to get back and start working on my pile of homework.”
His jaw clenched. “Yeah, all right.”
Leaving there was the hardest thing she’d done all day. When she and Cain went to his bunker, it was like nothing and no one else existed. It was a happy place for her, a place where she got to see him as something other than a douche who existed solely to make her life miserable.
They were almost to the car when she suddenly smelled sour milk. She turned on her heel and dragged another shot of air deep into her lungs.
“What are you doing?” Cain was by her side in a second.
She looked at him. “Don’t you smell it?”
He sniffed. “Smell what?”
How couldn’t he smell it? It was thick and cloying, coating her lungs and nostrils. Like the nasty smell that came from opening an empty bottle of milk that’d been sitting under the sun for a couple of days. Flint started walking, following the smell like it was a beacon.
“What do you smell, princess?”
“Cain, you don’t keep milk stashed down there, do you?”
He cocked his head. “Are they here?” His voice had grown deep, his eyes starting to glow with pinpricks of molten heat.
The wind whipped through her hair, tugging the ends around her face and into her mouth. She spit it out. There were so many smells tangled up in the air. The sharp tang of rotting leaves, the nutty scent of seeds, Cain’s powerful piney smell, and faintly, a thread of milk.
She scanned the trees as she walked, tracking the scent like a bloodhound, knowing when she veered too far off because she’d lose the trace. Finally the smell ended a hundred yards back from the bunker, behind the large base of a poplar tree. She touched the rough bark, leaning in to take a whiff.
“One of them was here.”
“Where did it go?” he growled and she looked at him, shaking her head.
Flint walked around the tree, off several feet in either direction and then shrugged. “It disappears from the tree.”
Cain stood still, peering through the thick gloom of night, and in that moment she did experience a thrill of fear. He was Cain, but he was bigger. He’d grown; the muscles on his arms looked stronger, thicker.
There was a scratchy quality to his voice when he said, “Let’s go.”
Once in the car, Flint asked, “Were they following me?”
He shifted gears. “Probably.”
“Why? Do you think they saw me climbing that tree?”
Cain looked at her for a long moment. There was something in his eyes, an undecipherable meaning in them, then he shuttered them as if throwing up an invisible wall. He turned on the main road leading back home and didn’t speak to her again.
It seemed like time flew by, and before she knew it they were back at the circus, walking up to his trailer. Immediately she spied a small figure sitting on his stoop.
Layla eyed her son hard, then with a loud sigh turned to Flint. “I kind of figured you’d be with him. Your father was looking for you between shows.”
She bit her lip, glancing at Cain as he continued on up to his trailer. He didn’t look back or say anything, just walked inside and shut the door.
Her heart sank. Why was it the second they left the bunker, he turned into a guy she could barely tolerate?
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled.
Layla clapped her hands on Flint’s shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze. “I covered for you. It was the least I could do after what you did for me.”
“What did I do?” she asked, confused.
The good side of Layla’s lips turned up. “You saved me that day, Flint. I’m only sorry you were injured in the process. If it hadn’t been for you though…” Her eyes took on a faraway look before she shuddered. “Just, thank you.”
Flint nodded, wrapping her arms around herself.
“Did you leave anything in Cain’s trailer?” Layla glanced at the silver bullet.
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Why don’t you go get it? I don’t think it’s smart for you to stay with him tonight, he seemed a little… aggravated.”
Flint wasn’t sure whether Layla knew that he’d already told her who he really was. But just in case, she nodded. Walking up to the door, she knocked lightly, feeling weirdly abandoned. Like she’d done something to piss him off.
Which was highly irrational and annoying.
He opened the door, her black bag in his hand.
Jutting out her jaw, she muttered, “Thanks,” and snatched it.
Cain flicked a glance at his mother. He’d changed. He was wearing a black sweater and jeans now, and he’d pulled the hood over his head and the sunglasses were back on.
/> She wanted to ask him if he could actually even see in the dark with them on but thought better of it. He stepped outside, closing the door behind him.
Acutely aware that his mother was standing right behind them, she jumped back, even though the heat of his body had been welcoming and thrilling.
“Tell Adam I’m going hunting,” he said, and she wasn’t sure, but she thought maybe he glanced at her before walking off and leaving them alone.
Flint stared long after he’d disappeared.
“Cain hasn’t always been like that. I hope you know that,” Layla said, as if apologizing for her son. “He’s different now, but I still think, deep down, he’s the same kid I raised.”
Yeah, a murdering demon spawn, she thought mutinously, still thoroughly aggravated at him for giving her the silent treatment on the way home.
They walked through rows of food vendors, the thick smell of sausage and onions tickling Flint’s nose and making her stomach growl in response.
“You hungry?” Layla asked.
“I’m always hungry,” Flint muttered, wondering if this desperate need for food would ever fade.
Layla went up to the vendor, lifted two fingers, and returned a second later with a silver-wrapped hot dog. “On the house. Though don’t tell Adam. Bottom line and all that.” She winked.
Flint smiled, eagerly accepting the meal. She was just taking a bite of the oily goodness when Layla spoke.
“You know, I think he likes you too.”
“Who?” Her heart sped up, knowing full well who she meant but needing to hear the words anyway.
Layla smiled. “Cain. I’ve never seen him…” She paused, eyes distant and faraway, then with a sigh, she smiled.
Never seen him what! Flint wanted to scream but forced herself to chew and swallow.
“Anyway, I know someone who wants to see you.” Layla gestured for Flint to follow her.
A minute later, they were at a white camper trailer lifted up on stilts. Layla knocked, and a second later a sleepy-eyed Abel opened the door. He had his shirt off and was wearing nothing but a pair of checkered sleep pants. Scratching his cast, he stepped back, giving her a quick flash of dimple.
“Hey there, beautiful.” He grinned. “You missed me?”
She snorted. “As if.”