Page 126 of Tainted Souls
This is greed. Hunger.Mine.
Then… pain?
Fingers wrench into my hair and rip me backward like a whip crack. My fangs tear free from Lily’s skin, leaving twin, bloody gashes. I snarl, feral and wild, twisting against the grip until I see who it is.
Ace wraps a small handkerchief around Lily’s wrist, stemming the flow from the puncture wounds.
“I’m sorry,” I manage to say, though the words feel inadequate.
They both ignore me. Ace helps Lily to her feet and guides her out, giving a silent nod as he hands her off to whoever waits outside.
Although I managed better than the first time, I’m not sure I want it to get easier. The thought of growing accustomed to this, to have it become routine, unsettles me greatly.
I feel like a freak show.
The curtain parts fully as Ace steps back into the alcove. He stops in front of me, taking in my flushed cheeks and the remnants of blood on my lips, searching my face as if hoping to find a reason not to be disgusted by me. Without a word, he reaches out and wipes a streak of blood from my chin with his thumb. His touch is cold, almost careless, like he’s cleaning up a mess he didn’t make.
Two light slaps—sharp, but not cruel—land against my cheek.
“Better.” He takes another drag from his cigarette. “Still messy, but you stopped.”
I wipe my mouth again, embarrassed. “I heard her.”
“Did you?” He tilts his head, his eyes resting on me like a verdict. “Or did you hear the part of yourself that knows what happens if you don’t?”
The question hits uncomfortably close to the truth. Had I stopped for Lily’s sake, or because I feared the consequences of losing control again? Which inevitably happened anyway.
I lift my chin, refusing to be cowed. “Does it matter? The result is the same.”
He smirks, more mockery than mirth. “Intent always matters. It is the difference between a monster who can’t control itself and a predator who chooses not to.”
He moves to sit where Lily had been, close enough that I can smell the tobacco on his breath.
“Saul mentioned you were taken by Redmoore once,” I say, trying to steer the conversation in the direction I want it to. “Experimented on. You were Subject W-1.”
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “Yes.”
I’m the one watching him this time. “That’s why you committed that massacre, isn’t it? Because you wanted revenge.”
He slouches back, elbows draping over the headrest, unfazed by my accusation. “I was angry, yes. But Cain made sure I acted. I wouldn’t have done it if it weren’t for his bargain hanging over my head, which was to capture you in exchange for Seena’s freedom.”
My mother’s name so casual on his lips feels strange, almost intrusive. I’ve spent years avoiding even thinking it, as if the mere syllables might conjure the pain of her absence.
I feign surprise. “You knew my mother?”
He laughs this time, devoid of humor, gesturing around us at the carefully orchestrated feeding rituals. “All of this exists because of her.”
“Well, what stopped you that day?” I ask, the memory too vivid to escape. “Don’t come at me with that change of heart crap again or—”
“I was given a name and description. You were a slayer, so I naturally assumed you were human. I didn’t know who you really were until I saw you that day.”
“You didn’t know?” A bitter laugh escapes me, but it’s more like a gasp than a genuine laugh. “You were close enough to my mother that you would commit a massacre to save her, but you didn’t know who her children were? So much for mindless devotion. Pathetic.”
He turns and looks me in the eye then, pinning me with his stare, and my blood boils before I even register what he’s saying. “She never told me she had children.”
I blink. Once more.
“Why not?” I ask, unable to keep the hurt from my voice. Were we not worth at least a mention?
