Page 191 of Where Your Scars Meet Mine
It feels like all the want of the past week condensed into one brutal, perfect collision.
When we finally break, both of us breathing too hard, his forehead drops to mine again.
“One more song,” he says, voice wrecked, “or I’m taking you out of here.”
The answer is already on my mouth.
It is there in the way my body is still tilted toward his, in the way my hands are still caught in his hair, in the heat rushing through me hard enough that the rest of the room has not fully come back into focus. One more breath and I would have told him yes. One more second and I would have let him drag me out of that ballroom, out of the lights, music, and the watching eyes, somewhere private enough for the look on his face to finish what that kiss started.
Then I see him.
Kadin.
He is not close enough to interrupt, not close enough to hear us, but he is there in the background all the same, half-shadowed near the back of the room where the light goes dimmer. His face is angled toward us with that same ugly, smug little interest he always wears when he thinks he has found the exact right moment to poison. He takes in the sight of us standing there too close, my mouth swollen from Silas’s kiss, his hands still on me, the whole school only a few feet away from seeing what we no longer care enough to hide.
My blood goes cold so fast it hurts.
Silas feels the change before I say anything. His gaze sharpens on my face first, then follows mine over my shoulder.
The second he sees Kadin, every part of him stills.
Not in confusion. Not in surprise.
In recognition.
Kadin cocks his head.
It is such a small gesture, but the contempt in it is immediate.
Then, lifting two fingers toward me, he points once, dragging one finger slowly across the air in front of his own throat before letting his hand fall.
Not theatrical enough for the room to notice.
More than clear enough for us to understand.
My stomach drops.
Kadin’s mouth curves, pleased with himself, pleased with the fact that he got the message across, pleased with whatever fear he thinks that gesture should put in me. Turning, he walks away, slipping toward one of the back exits with the same casual arrogance he always wears when he thinks he has already won the moment.
“Silas,” I say instantly.
Too late.
He is already moving.
The warmth of him disappears so abruptly it feels like the floor is shifting under me. One second his forehead is against mine, the next his hands are gone. His whole body has turned toward the back of the room with a purpose so dark, it sends a fresh pulse of panic through me.
Catching his arm hard, he barely slows.
“Silas, don’t-"
“That little shit stain pays for good tonight,” he snaps.
The sentence comes out lethal, every word stripped of anything soft. It's not loud enough for the dancers nearest us to hear... that only makes it more frightening.
My grip tightens. “You cannot do this here.”
I can already feel the answer in his body.
