Page 45 of Tracking Snow

One is dragged inward, and I assume he’s fighting with Four. After a minute, I tug his hand, forcing his attention on me.

"I guess our nightly dates need to consist of us saving magic-kind and me banging it out with every single one of you," I say.

By the way he focuses on me, I can tell I've effectively silenced whatever internal bickering was going on. I swing his hand with a devilish grin.

"And don't worry, next time we end up with a spooked mage, I'll make sure to be quicker, so I don't get conked out."

One stiffens. The warmth in his face disappears. His hand slides free from mine as he takes a step back, shoulders straightening like he’s putting armor on.

"There's not going to be a next time, Snow."

"I swear I'm fine," I say, holding my hands up to show him how fine I am. "After Kiki's quick fix, I feel all better. Though I could totally go for about three gyros and a side of fries," I say thoughtfully, remembering her mentioning once that after someone gets healed, they end up hella hungry.

One scrubs a hand down his face. "Snow, there won't be a next time because I don't want you following me around anymore."

"Pfft, what are you going to do without me? You'd be bored out of your mind," I tease.

Especially after what just happened. I mean, we're kind of dating. I'm dating The Seven. Or the ones I've met anyway. I still haven't met Three, Five, or Seven.

...I'm not sure I want to meet Seven.

One's face empties of all expression until I don't recognize him. He doesn't look like any of the iterations I've met, and something cold drips in my stomach.

"You aren't helping. You’re in the way, and do you know why? Because you are just a human."

My brain skids sideways so hard I almost miss the next breath. "What?"

"You keep following me around like a desperate puppy because you want to be like me, well guess what? You won't be like me. Not ever. No matter how many times we fuck. You get that?"

His words hit so hard, my hands press into my stomach trying to suppress the pain of the phantom punch in the gut.

I swallow, but my throat has gone too tight. "You don't mean that."

His jaw jumps.

That tiny movement is worse than an answer.

Because he does mean it. Or he wants me to believe he does, and I'm not sure which is crueler.

"You think because you've seen pieces of me, you understand the whole," he says. His voice has gone cold. Surgical. "You don't."

A laugh slips out of me. Not a funny one. More like my body is trying to cough up the shard lodged in my chest. "Right. Sorry. My mistake. I guess I got confused when your tongue was in my mouth, and your dick was inside me."

His face tightens, but he doesn't look away.

Good.

Look at me, asshole.

Look at what you're doing.

"I thought you saw me," I say, and I hate how soft it sounds. I hate that my eyes burn. I hate that some pathetic little part of me is still waiting for him to take it back.

Something flickers behind his eyes. One of the others maybe. Or a conscience. Hard to tell the difference when both apparently show up late.

"What I see is a girl pretending she's special, pretending to be more than she is, and who won't stop bothering me. That was fun." He jerks his head in the direction of the club we came from. "But the fun's over now."

I look myself over to see if my body has been riddled with bullet holes. I've never been shot down so quickly or hard in my life.