“Daemon—”
“Madison,” Bishop speaks up from the door, and I turn to face him, searching his eyes.
“What?”
“Leave. Now.”
“What?” I snap, then look back to Daemon. “Do you want me to leave?”
Daemon looks up at me from leaning on his elbows, his eyes pained and his face strained. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in any other light aside from my brother, and he’s beautiful. Beautifully ruined. “Ita.”
I look back to Bishop, not knowing what that means. He simply nods, so I look back at Daemon. “Okay.”
I push past Bishop and walk toward my bedroom, flopping down on my bed. Seconds and then minutes pass before Bishop walks back in, shutting the door behind him.
I shoot to my feet. “Is he okay?”
He walks farther into my room, taking a seat on the bed beside me. “Yeah. When he’s like that though, Madison, you need to let him have space. Nothing good will come from pushing Daemon to a point where….” He stops, seeming to think over what he’s about to say.
“Bishop,” I warn, looking toward him. “You need to not lie to me.” He lies down on his back, and I follow, rolling onto my stomach. “Please. Just don’t lie to me. I can handle everyone else lying to me, but not you.”
Turning his head, he looks between my eyes. It’s intense. His stare is always intense; it makes me want to look away, but I’m afraid I won’t feel it again. I want to feel it for as long as I can. Soak it up, bathe in it, swim in it. Now I sound crazy, but maybe I am. Maybe when it comes to him, he brings out the dark, crazy side of me that I’ve always suppressed by being the quiet girl. Because he gives me confidence, all the confidence I need to tackle or do anything, and that’s lethal.
Reaching out, he tucks some of my loose hair behind my ear and smiles softly. “I promise I won’t lie to you.”
I inhale, unable to contain the warm feeling that overflows my insides at his promise. Not once has anyone—not my father, not Nate, no one—promised me those words since I’ve found out about this world. Leaning down, I kiss him, running my lips softly against his. I’m just about to pull away when his hand comes to the back of my neck and he grips onto me, pulling me back down to his mouth. His tongue darts inside and everything in me instantly comes to life. Picking me up, he puts me on his lap, and I straddle him, raking my hair out of my face.
“I’m not used to this,” he murmurs, his hands coming to rest on my thighs.
“Used to what?” I ask, running my pointer finger down his hard chest, over each ab muscle, and eventually down to the lines that disappear under his jeans.
“This, what this is. I’ll fuck it up one way or another. You’re prepared for that—right?” he asks, his tone sincere.
I shrug, looking back into his eyes. “I guess we can cross that bridge when we get there.” I open my mouth, wondering whether or not I should ask the question that is itching at the back of my brain. “Khales?” I must have decided I was going to go there, because before I can stop myself, I say it.
His jaw tenses. “It’s not as you or everyone thinks.” He taps me, and I swing my leg off him, scooting up the bed and leaning on the headboard.
“So tell me then. What was she?”
“A close friend. We were always together, because she was a friend. You know your Tatum? The girl you met before you knew about the Kings?”
I nod, slightly nervous at where this conversation could go. It’s the first time Bishop has ever opened up about Khales, and I don’t want to say something dumb and have him clam up again. “Yeah, but haven’t you boys always known about the Kings?”
He laughs, running his hands through his hair and leaning on his elbows, his back turned toward me. “No. It’s not until you’re of age when you’re given the book. I had known Khales since we were in preschool.”
“Who was she?” I ask, tilting my head. “I know she went to Tillie’s school and all that.”
“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “She had a shitty life, and then eventually started playing with drugs. I always tried to help her where I could, but sometimes you can’t help those who don’t want to be helped. Anyway, she kicked the drugs, and after I was initiated, she and I got close again. That is until my father decided otherwise.”
“Initiated? You mean after you…?”
He looks at me over his shoulder then turns to face me fully, leaning back on one of the posts at the end of my bed. “I’m sure you know about the initiation process.”
I blush. “Yes… how old?”
“Thirteen.” He looks at me carefully. “I’m sure you know what happens after….”
“Your first kill?” I ask lightly. I already know the answer, so I pull my eyes away from his and look at the wall.
“Truth?” he replies gently.
My eyes snap back to him. “Always.”
“Then, no, it wasn’t my first kill.”
I breathe in deeply. “Well, okay.”
“Okay?” He chuckles, shaking his head and pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. “I tell you that I killed someone when I was younger than thirteen, and you say ‘okay?’ Like it’s the most natural thing in the world?” He looks back at me, a mixture of awe and anger in his stare.
“Well,” I reply, “in our world, it is natural.”
“True,” he agrees.
“So your dad? He made you kill her?” I want to tread carefully around her, and I probably should have found a better word than kill, but I need straightforward answers, and to get straight answers, you need to ask straightforward questions. Leave them no
