Somewhere far ahead on this ugly road, a white van cuts through the same air with two girls in the back. Somewhere around it—or above it—other crows are watching. And soon, when she decides the timing is perfect, Alex will deign to appear and tell us every detail of our mission right down to the dot.
Guess what, though?
Rhea still hasn’t shown.
You’d think the woman who strong-armed me into this whole “kill them for us” situation would at least make an appearance before the main event. But no. Just crows and cold and the feeling of walking into something blindfolded.
Just great, right?
Talon twists in his seat and rummages through a plastic bag he grabbed from the trunk.
“All right, children,” he announces. “Breakfast of champions.”
He tosses something at us without looking.
A protein bar hits Nathaniel in the shoulder.
Two hit me square in the thigh.
“Jesus,” I mutter.
“You’re welcome,” Talon says, far too pleased with himself. “Eat up so you don’t faint from low blood sugar when we go risk our lives again.”
Nathaniel picks his bar up from the floor, while I unwrap mine and take a bite. The cardboard texture is immediate.
Cassian adjusts his seat slightly. He doesn’t look at me, but his hand is still resting on his thigh, palm up. Waiting.
I unwrap his and place it in his hand.
He takes it, but before he brings it to his mouth, he shifts closer and looks at me.
A silent question.
He wants me to feed him.
God help me.
My pulse skitters. I break off a small piece of the bar and lift it toward him.
He doesn’t move, so I have to lean in and press it to his lips.
He parts them and takes the bite straight from my fingers. His mouth brushes my skin, and he closes his eyes for a second, like the simple act rewires something inside him.
When he finishes chewing, he licks a crumb from the pad of my fingertip.
I break off another piece. This time he leans in and takes it from my hand himself, lips dragging across my knuckles, tongue flicking briefly against the side of my finger in a way that absolutely should not feel as obscene as it does.
“You must be very hungry,” I murmur.
“You can say that.”
He opens his hand again, palm up, like he’s asking for more.
“It looks like it,” I say.
“I suppose I was thinking about something last night,” he replies. “Must’ve spiked my hunger.”
“Oh, yeah?”
