Who protectsher?
I spin away from her and rip my hands through my hair. I swear, no one has ever made me feel as aggravated as she does. No one’s ever challenged me like she does.
“This is pointless to talk about. You’ll never see things the way I do, and I’ll never compromise. Let’s go back to the party.” I walk away without waiting to see if she follows, but I know she does. I don’t have to look back. I’ve developed a sort of sixth sense for her, can find her based only on the sound of her footsteps or on the faint scent of her shampoo.
We reach the party. Like magnets reversed, we split and go in opposite directions. I tell myself it doesn’t matter. That her words don’t sink their hooks in me. That I don’t care what she thinks about who I am or what I’ve done, but I wonder if that’s a lie. I wonder what she would think if she saw how I killed that man today, how Ienjoyedit. Would the fire in her eyes turn to fear? Would she run from me? Be disgusted by me? Disappointed in me?
It doesn’t matter, I remind myself. She’s not mine, not really.
I may own this town, but I don’t own her.
Even though I want to.
***
Laurel
Carrson doesn’t look back. He storms off like I’m the enemy. LikeI’mthe one with blood on my hands.
Screw him.
The music’s gotten louder while I was gone. Thicker. It pulses against the walls, reverberates in my chest like a second heartbeat, too fast and too strong. The air is warmer now, heavy with sweat, perfume, and the sharp tang of spilled beer.
The brothers and sisters are drunker. Wilder.
Somewhere, a brother is howling,actuallyhowling, like the animal inside him finally broke loose. On a table, a pack of sisters dance with their arms slung around each other, skirts hiked up, their hair whipping. Below them, a cluster of brothers watches with glittering hungry eyes. In the corner, a half-nakedgame of Twister has devolved into bodies tangled together, limbs everywhere, moans and breathless laughter echoing beneath the bass.
I notice the couples. Pressed together on the dance floor, tucked into darkened corners, flush against stone walls. Some are kissing. Others are doing more, much more, if the slow, grinding rhythm of their hips is any indication. It’s all mouths and hands and heat, blurred by liquor and desire.
Part of it is strategy, I realize. A game of attraction, of testing compatibility, of finding your Bonded in the most elemental, instinct-driven way possible. Most of it? It’s just what happens when you trap a bunch of drunk twenty-somethings in a room together and add in a sensual beat. They give in to their most primal urges.
Anxious now, I scan the crowd for my friends, for a familiar face, but all I see are bodies grinding, mouths open, and eyes glazed. Red solo cups are raised like offerings to the gods of chaos.
The whole house throbs with it.
Lust. Noise. Madness.
I swivel my head, still searching. They’re all so beautiful, I notice. Almost in an unearthly way. Each brother and sister. They all have big eyes, full lips, and unblemished skin. The women are lush, all curves and glow. The men carved, broad, and clean-cut. I wonder at the symmetry of their faces, the glossiness of their hair.
I run headfirst into a hard, unmovable body with a softoof.
“Better watch where you’re going, little girl,” says a deep voice that instantly turns my blood to ice. Slowly, I crane my head upward until I’m looking at his face.
He’s got two scars now. One on each cheek.
Jackson.
He grins down at me. I turn to go, but his hand is on my arm, gripping tightly.
“Not so fast.” He leans down, and I wince at the stink of beer on his breath, laced with something sweeter. Sickening. “You’ve been hiding from me. Don’t think I didn’t notice. Did you tell Carrson something? About me? Maybe what I said to you?”
This pussy will be mine. I’ll add it to my collection.
I try to wrench free, but his grip is iron.
“I didn’t say anything to him,” I hiss. “Now, let me go.”
He looks over my head, scanning the crowd. “Carrson’s not here to protect you,” he says, almost cheerfully. “He’s been so selfish, keeping you to himself. You know what they say, when the cat’s away, the mice will play.” Jackson uses his other hand, the one not holding me, to skim his fingers along my jaw.
