Page 119 of Deviant

I’m used to hearing her use that melodic tone with everyone else, just not with me. Not lately, anyway. Maybe Lucas and the others were right. Maybe I did go a little too far on thisafternoon’s prank. I mean, I must have if she’s acting all sweet and shit.

“I can see that,” I mumble in reply, plopping down to the ground to take my boots and socks off.

“I know what you did.”

“You’ll have to be more precise than that, sweetheart. I do a lot of dumb shit.”

She crawls up to my back, her breath on the nape of my neck, causing an unwanted shiver to run through me.

“I know that you read Nora’s book before you gave it to me. And I know you used her research, just as I had, to get selected for the Harvest Dozen.”

I remain silent and continue to take off my clothes until all I’m wearing is my pants.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” she asks, surprised that I’m not denying it.

“I didn’t hear a question in there, so no. I’m not going to say anything.” I grin, getting up from the ground to pull my pants down.

Her eyes widen at the prominent bulge under my boxers, averting her gaze so that she has the strength of mind to continue with her interrogation.

“At least you didn’t deny it, so I guess that’s something,” she exhales. “Not that it matters. All I’m interested in is the reason why you volunteered to be one of the Dozen. That’s what’s really important.”

“Is that so?” I tease, flinging myself onto the sleeping bag next to her, and placing my arms behind my head.

“I know you’re here to kill me,” she states matter-of-factly, shifting her body to face me.

Again, I don’t deny it, preferring to keep my mouth sealed shut, curious to hear what she has to say next.

“And after what I’ve done, it’s only right that you do. I’ve more than accepted my fate.”

“How big of you.” I smirk.

“This isn’t a joke, Elias,” she says urgently, placing her palms over my bare chest and scorching me with that one touch.

“I’m not laughing,” I retort, my expression now dead serious.

“Good, that’s good,” she mutters to herself, sounding relieved by my reply. She then leans back and pulls her hands away from my chest, my skin instantly mourning her tender touch.

I don’t know what pisses me off most—the relieved expression on her face or that my body craves her touch?

“Care to explain why you look so calm about the prospect of me killing you?”

“Because,” she starts with a shrug, “as long as killing me is your end goal, you won’t do anything stupid—like getting yourself hurt—or worse, killed—that could get in the way of what you came here to accomplish.”

“Cut that shit out,” I grumble, hating how calm and resolute she sounds.

“Cut what out?”

“Pretending you don’t give a shit if you live or die.”

“I don’t care.”

“Bullshit,” I spew.

“You can choose to believe me or not. That doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you live.”

“Right, because you care so fucking much if I live or die.” I snort sarcastically.

“Yes. I do. Very much so,” she defends more passionately.

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