Defiance

He kept coming until he was nose to nose with me. A warm draft of apple-pie scent touched my face, and his eyes glowed bright blue in the dark.

“Jesus!” All my breath jolted away, leaving me starving for air. I felt like I’d been caught sneaking out my bedroom window.

Kind of funny, because I had.

Christophe studied me. I wasn’t used to anyone getting this close, or staring into my eyes like they wanted to read the wrinkles on my brain. Plus, he was probably not happy with me. I didn’t need the touch to tell me that.

I slid to my left, instinctively, wanting to get away, but his hand darted forward and spread on the wall next to my shoulder. His other hand did the same, and now I was practically in his arms.

Wait, isn’t he mad at me? I froze, trying to think of what to do next. No good. Body buzzing like a lightning rod. Brain vapor-locked.

“I think we should talk.” The aspect slid through him briefly, his fangs peeking out from under his top lip, halting, and retreating.

“Um,” was my totally profound response. “Uh, Christophe—” Jesus. Did he have to follow me everywhere?

“Have I been in any way unclear?” Quietly, as if he was asking me for a cup of coffee.

Huh? “Uh, what? Look, Christophe, I—”

He leaned in even further, and his nose touched my hair. He inhaled, deeply, and the flush that went through was so incredibly hot I was amazed my clothes didn’t start smoking. The apple-pie smell wrapped around me, and I wondered if it came from him drinking human blood.

My own teeth tingled at the thought, right down to their roots. The bloodhunger turned over inside my bones, uneasy.

Oh, God.

When he spoke, warm breath tickled my hair and touched my ear. “Have I been in any way unclear about my feelings?”

What the hell? I could barely get enough air in. Graves’s coat was way too big, but it was suddenly feeling heavy and uncomfortable. “I, um. I . . . Christophe, what?”

“Skowroneczko moja.” His right hand slid up the outside of my shoulder, along Graves’s coat, and he was touching my hair as well as breathing in my ear. All the blood sort of rushed to my head and made a sound like pulsing static. “I won’t push, and I don’t pry. All I ask is a little attention. A little consideration.”

My brain seized up. Attention? He was around all the time. Who else did I pay attention to? “What?”

He inhaled again. He was smelling my hair. Jeez.

Oh, wow. This was a lot more intense than kissing him. That just kind of . . . happened, you know? I could say that I just let him do it, it wasn’t really me.

This was something else. Because he smelled good, male and spice and that golden apple scent all mixed in, and the bloodhunger half–woke at the back of my throat. It didn’t send glass shivers through me, and it didn’t make me want to drink. It made my skin feel too small, and it made me move restlessly. Not to get away, though.

I didn’t precisely want to get away.

It was so different from anything else I’ve ever done. I mean, catching a quick makeout session with a middling-cute boy in the band room was one thing, because I knew I’d be gone in a couple weeks anyway. I didn’t get involved across sixteen states, but I did experiment, okay?

Graves’s coat made a sound against the wall as I moved, fetching up against Christophe’s other arm.

Graves . . . he’d kept backing up when it was time to get a little closer, so to speak. If he’d been all over me like this, I’d’ve . . .

What? What would I have done? It was so hard to think with Christophe so close. Especially when he leaned all the way in, pressing himself against me.

It was . . . nice. It was like the whole world had been shut out, and there was just him. Like he was a wall between me and everything that had happened since the night Dad hadn’t come home. I could relax, be open fingers instead of a closed-up fist. I could let a little of myself go, because he was there.

“I don’t mean to be cruel,” Christophe murmured. “I just want you prepared. I want you safe. Is that so hard to understand?”

He didn’t sound angry, thank God. For the umpteenth time that night, I was shaking. It wasn’t fear, though. It was relief so deep and wide I wasn’t sure I could stand up. My knees had gone noodle-gooshy and I found out my hands had crept up around his neck, fingers lacing together like I was afraid he was going to get away. Vanish, somehow, like everything and everyone else that had made me feel safe.

Everything tangled up inside me, and I let out a long sigh. My breath touched his neck, and he shivered. Like it was pleasant. My teeth tingled more fiercely, my jaw shifting, and the fangs were sharp aching points.

I inhaled sharply, and that was a mistake. Because I could smell the fluid in his veins, copper and spice, heat lightning and the smell of the desert when you drive with the windows down after dark and you’re not stopping anytime soon.

The hunger woke up the rest of the way. I turned stiff as a board against the wall, fighting off the urge to push my chin forward, mouth opening, and go for the pulse I could suddenly hear.

“Go ahead.” Christophe’s head tilted back slightly. The shaking had invaded him, too. Like there was an earthquake, and the only people noticing it were us. “I trust you. You’re all I have, Dru.”

What? “Chr-chr—” I was trying to say his name, but my tongue was clumsy around the fangs. They pricked, sharply, and I tasted my own blood. It stroked the hunger, red crawling up over the darkness behind my eyelids, and my hands untangled enough to shove violently at him. He stumbled back a step, and I clapped my right hand over my mouth like I was trying to stop myself from puking.

He grabbed my shoulders. “It’s all right. Shhh, it’s all right.” He said something else, too, but too low and confused for me to hear it.

I tried to back up through the wall. He held me still, and my stomach cramped in on itself. I shook my head, holding my mouth closed, trying not to smell him. Not because it was offensive, but because he smelled so goddamn good.

Or the blood did. I couldn’t tell them apart now. What if that apple-pie smell was him smelling like a snack, for God’s sake? Like a Hostess apple pie, just waiting for me to tear the wrapping off and take a bite?

My knees gave way. I slid down the wall, and he came with me. Graves’s coat tangled up my feet, and if Christophe hadn’t been holding on to me, I would have ended up sprawled instead of sitting on the floor.

“Now.” He sounded completely calm. “Where are you going? Let me guess. Anywhere you can, to get away.”

Not really. I kept my hand clapped tight over my mouth. He crouched on his heels like it was as comfortable as breathing, leaned forward a little. His fingers tweezed at the heavy material of the coat, on the right where it was shredded by something’s claws and I’d carefully stitched it together.

“Or,” he said, quietly, “you’re looking for someone.”

The bloodhunger retreated, snarling, step by step. After a little while, I could peel my hand away from my mouth. My teeth tingled, but they were only bluntly human. “Christophe—” I sounded like all the air had been punched out of me.

“He’ll be alive.” Christophe’s hands dangled, loose and expressive. Even that looked graceful and planned. “But he won’t be unchanged. Sergej will use him as bait to catch you. You’re the real prize.”

The name sent a twinge of pain through my head. I wasn’t sure if it was the word itself, or the load of hate and contempt Christophe’s voice carried every time he said it.

And there was something bothering me lately. My mouth started working again, thank God. “Why won’t he just go after Anna? She’s easier to get to, isn’t she? What with sending him information all the time and stuff.”

“You’re the bigger threat, Dru.” As if talking to an idiot. “He’s already corrupted Anna. You? You’ve not only fought him off, but you’re incorruptible. He lives to twist things, kochana. You wouldn’t understand.”