Bree came to a halt and swung back around. “Why did you put it like that?” Bree asked. “Livingperson.”
“Huh? Because you are,” he said, yawning. I grimaced.
“The firstlivingperson you had sex with.”
“Yes?”
“Baz,” I said. “Please tell me you didn’t.”
“What do you mean? I think you all are extremely aware I’ve had sex, my cock has been inside all of you.”
“Living person,” Bree repeated.
“Are you not alive?” He closed his eyes and yawned again.
“Does that mean there was a dead person you had sex with first?” Bree asked. Baz snorted. Everyone remained silent.
“Why isn’t he answering?” Bree asked, sounding panicked.
“Oh, you’re being serious,” he sighed, rolling on his side.
“Baz, just answer,” Bree practically growled.
“You get jealous of corpses, too? That’s cute.” He fell asleep before giving anyone a straight answer.
12
DEAD ANIMALS
BAZ
Thirteen hours left.
I was poking holes in defrosting blood bags, watching as red lines of liquid slid towards the sink’s drain. Orson and Bree had gone out to get food and supplies. Nemo was outside somewhere. Close enough to hear if I left, but not close enough to see me betraying them.
Bree had filled the kitchen sink with warm water and the frozen bags, making sure she’d have blood to hold her over when she got back. However, I’d pulled out the stopper, poked the holes, and was now watching it wash away. Bree had a demanding appetite, and she’d need to feed. I was removing options for her. This part of the plan was essential.
I plucked up a bag and watched red drip from the hole and plop into the white sink. What a weird thing to eat. Biting into a warm person had to be more thrilling than cold plastic. Pressure built in my gums, aching deeply. I dropped the bag and rubbed above my canines as I moved across the room, looking out the window.
I was already evolving. The exhaustion had lifted, and the burn in my bones was gone. There were other changes, too—small ones adding up slowly.
Nemo was nowhere in sight still. He said he’d make everything right. Wouldn’t that be nice? Someone to help make all the bad things go away. I gave the trees another sweep for him, then turned away. Nemo was the most capable. If I didn’t have a parlor trick of a power, he’d be the strongest by far. It was undeniable. He was a monster and would make a good leader. Keep them together. Keep them safe.
All I had was one more night with them. I was leaving, whether or not any of them helped me. It would have been easier if they had but with or without them, I had a plan only I was aware of.
The darts Supra shot me with were still on me. I slid my fingers in my pocket and touched the paper wrapped around each one. Notes just for me. The first had said I could make a deal. The second had a phone number and was signedDamien. I’d thought Levi had been wrong. That Damien D’Bolique was just some guy. The journal didn’t paint the picture of an evil mastermind. Something had to have happened. Given the journal, I could only guess one thing: something terrible had happened to his mate, and it changed him.
Could I even blame Damien for that? Here I was, betraying my own partners to keep them safe.
Anyway, these notes were why it didn’t matter whether Orson or Nemo helped. It didn’t matter if Bree demanded that we all stay together. They could sit there thinking I was helpless, surrounded by woods in the middle of nowhere, but I was leaving for good after tonight.
They’d all been awake for much longer than I had and were going to crash soon. I was guaranteeing that. I walked back to the sink and watched the blood bags deflate. Bree was going tobe very hungry, and she’d drink enough from Orson and Nemo to lay them out cold.
I stomped away and I slipped into the bathroom. In front of me, serpentine eyes stared back. I squinted and relaxed. Then I rubbed them. Nothing helped. I couldn’t make them change.
Bree, Nemo, and Orson were delusional, thinking things would be okay. I was familiar with that naivety. As a child, I’d refused to accept the extent of my powers, convincing myself that I could hold back. I used to test my ability to control my venom on small animals. They’d all died. I couldn’t bury them because I’d felt bad. Instead, I’d kept them.
Young children aren’t very good at hiding bodies, especially those they liked talking to. And when my father found them … Well, there was a reason I was no longer as empathetic as when I was a child—crying when I killed things. I never would be again. He’d ensured that.
