Page 137 of Bound By Fury
And I am so, so stupid for taking this long to realize it.
His hostility, the hunger in his eyes, the way he can barely stand to be around me without seeming as though he’s in excruciating pain, the sparks along my back when he watches me, the fire that burns against my skin with his touch, the feeling of danger when he’s around—my sick mind inexplicably drawn to it again and again.
The black swirls against his pale skin that only I’ve seemed to notice. That follow me as though they’re drawn to me. Maureen did say that hunters have a mark.
Naturally, the kiss slows, and with an uncharacteristic gentleness he pulls away, our lips peeling apart like even they are hesitant to let go. To ruin this one, impossible, never-going-to-happen-again moment. He rests his forehead against mine, his eyes closed, tension warring on his face. I touch my kiss-swollen lips.
It makes so much sense now—why my magic is vibrating in my palms, why it takes every ounce of my self-control not to release it. To stop myself from striking him down with a thousand watts of searing lightning heat. To not fill his lungs with water, drowning him before he can kiss away the rage boiling inside me.
Slowly, I raise my eyes to meet his.
He’s searching for mine as well.
The only thing left between us is pure agony.
“Kai,” I whisper, my voice watery.
And he knows. He knows I know.
Shuddering, he drags his finger across my bottom lip, his gaze trailing his touch like he’s memorizing the feel of it. When he kisses me again, it is chaste, a goodbye in more ways than one.
As he steps away, I tremble in the absence of his heat.
Neither of us moves or says a word. He turns, pacing quickly toward the center of campus, and I sigh in relief. He only makes it a couple feet before he lets out another frustrated grunt and stalks back to me, tension rolling off him as he cradles my face in his hands and brings his lips to my ear.
“Please,” he begs. “Please leave campus. Please go home to your mother and your house and your art and never come back here.”
I back out of his grasp. “You know I can’t do that.”
“Then I can’t help you. I can’t save you this time.”
“What are you talking about? What do you mean, ‘this time?’ ”
He glances toward the bell tower of the chapel rising in the distance. “You have three days to leave campus. That’s all I can tell you.” He pushes back the hair that’s been plastered to his face. “And I shouldn’t even be saying that much.”
“What happens in three days?”
“Didn’t your grandma teach you anything?” he asks, turning his back to me. “Tuesday is the anniversary of the burning of the Beaumont Clark School. It’s the night they’ve been saving you for.”
My hands fly to my mouth. “What the fuck are you talking about?” I sputter. “Who are they? Saving me for what?”
“I’ve done all I can do. It’s out of my hands now whether we like it or not.” His shrug is supposed to seem nonchalant. Careless. But it doesn’t. It’s weighed down and hurting and lopsided.
“Don’t lie,” I warn. “You can’t save me and doom me—you have to pick one.”
“I’m not lying!” He takes a step back. And then another. Another. “I’m telling you to run.”
He glances over his shoulder, and the light from the lamp casts him in a cruel shadow, reflecting off his browbone and darkening the hollow of his cheek. His words are remorseful, but his eyes are dark, starving things. “We never had a chance,” he says, barely audible over the rain. “We were always going to end this way.”
I watch him until his frame is swallowed by the distance.
When he’s truly gone, my knees buckle and I choke on the scream clogging my throat.
I have to talk to Maureen. I need to come up with a plan. There’s no way I can do this alone. Shaking, I trudge over to the awning outside the gym and slide down against the bricks, not caring as they scrape my back. I push away visions of the hedge maze and fold, cradling my head with my knees, gagging on the sob that rips from my chest.
“What. The. Fuck.” I mutter it again and again, rocking as I pull my phone from my bra.
Missed Call: Lucas Matsoukas
