Delaney peered over at the silver snuff box perched at the edge of Colton’s duvet. She’d tucked the sliver of bone within, out of sight in the soft velvet interior. “I can’t say.”
“You can’t say,” Mackenzie echoed. “Laney, I love you, but I don’t like you very much right now.”
“Sorry.” She fell back onto the bed, one arm flung wide. “I didn’t mean to wake you. It’s not important; I’ll figure it out on my own. See you in class?”
She was met with an incoherent grumble, the sound of the line going dead. Rolling onto her stomach, she reached for the box. She pried it open and poked at the shard of bone within. Instantly, the feel of it crept through her. It lingered in her skin. Lifting it out, she ran a fingertip along the fractured edge, the tip as sharp as a tooth. Her phone dinged and she dragged it toward her, still examining the splinter.
The text was from Colton.What are you doing?
Her stomach flipped. Shoving the bone back into the box, she slammed the cap in place.
Nothing, she texted back. Then, because her first answer hadn’t been entirely true, she sentCan you feel that?
His reply was instantaneous.Yes.
That persistent flutter whispered through her chest. The voice lay dormant inside her head, her thoughts all snarled up in sound. She stared at the silver box, her thoughts racing and racing.
Finally, she texted,Does it hurt?
Her phone didn’t ding again until she was midway through dressing for class, tucking the sheer cuffs of her blouse into the black knit of her cardigan. Her screen lit up, skipping along the vanity. Colton’s response was short. Only two words.
Not anymore.
***
Delaney made it halfway into the kitchen before she realized she wasn’t alone. She smelled the cigarette smoke seconds before she saw the intruder.
The exhaust hood was on over the stove, sucking wind, and the sound of it put a dull whir in her head. A window was thrown open, and it was here the stranger stood, expelling smoke through the open slat. The frosted October morning pushed chilly fingers of cold onto the floor.
“Hello there, beautiful,” he said, and she realized she’d seen him before—outside Nate’s room in Chicago. Smoke eked out from thin lips, a red bulb nose. He was stout and nervy looking, his eyes wide set. “I’m looking for Price.”
“He’s not here.”
The man’s smile was as twitchy as the rest of him. “I’m happy to wait.”
She set her clutch on the counter and headed toward the coffee machine, eager to appear as unperturbed by his presence as possible. She took her time pouring out a cup. The stranger took his time with his cigarette. The fan chuffed and rattled in a wheeze.
Nursing her steaming mug with both hands, she turned to face the man by the window. “I’m Lane,” she said.
That twitchy smile endured. “I know.”
“And you are?”
“Mark.” He flicked ash from his cigarette, letting it fall into the farmhouse sink in fat gray flakes. “Mark Meeker.”
Meeker.Understanding stole through her. “And are you part of it?”
“Part of what?”
“The club,” she said. “Price, Hayes, Schiller, the others.”
“It’s not a club,” he spat, visibly annoyed. “It’s a group of bored little boys who think they’re important enough to earn immortality. They found someone to help them do it, and he found me. When they step out of line, I keep them in.”
She gripped her mug tighter. “Is that what you did to Price? Keep him in line?”
A laugh coughed out of him in a raspingho-ho-ho. “Does that upset you? I ruined your boyfriend’s pretty face? Take my advice: Cut your losses and run. Little girls like you shouldn’t be playing around with the likes of him.”
A spate of unease stole through her. The cold air from the window pushed through her stockinged feet. “What’s that supposed to mean? Little girls like me?”
