Page 29 of Mistletoe

“I’m sorry if respecting my dignity was an inconvenience for you,” Hal snapped.

“I was trying to save your life,” the vampire snapped back, fangs flashing. “What was left of it. Dignity was not my priority.”

“Save me? Is that what you call this?” Hal shrugged off the coat and pushed up the sleeve of his right arm. A thick surgical scar wrapped around his forearm. Pain clouded his memories. He did not know when the scar happened, only that something had happened to leave it.

Draven stepped forward, as if to examine his handiwork. “That is from a skin graft.”

“Why did I need a skin graft?”

“You were green.”

Hal resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the obtuse answer. Such an Ethan response. “You took green skin from my butt to replace the green skin on my arm? Sounds pointless. Sounds like you just wanted to cut me up.”

“It was from a donor and not green,” Draven said, ignoring Hal’s accusation.

“That’s a lot of skin to donate.” Hal had more stitches and more patches, leaving him unsure how much of himself was the original him?

“It was from a cadaver,” Draven said, which made everything infinitely worse. “Once your condition had stabilized and the mutations ceased, I hypothesized that you could reintegrate into society if your appearance was?—”

“Less green?”

“Commonplace.”

That was such a load of bullshit that Hal was amazed his brother could say it with a straight face. “You wanted to make me a people suit.”

“Don’t be crass.”

“Crass. You tore off my skin, stitched on the skin of the dead, and I’m the one who is being crass? You never wanted me to reintegrate. You wanted to see if the mutation would affect the new tissue.”

A smile, sharp and cold as a gust of wintry wind, flitted across Draven’s face. “Your mutation is very aggressive. Your body incorporated the new tissue in a matter of days.”

“What about your mutation? Did you sample different blood types to find out which had the most vitamins and minerals? How many people it took to make a complete breakfast?” Hal pushed his tangled hair away from his face. “Never mind. That’s not what I want to know.”

Draven dipped his head, waiting for Hal’s question, the image of patience.

“How long has it been?” Hal asked.

“How long has it been for what?”

“Since the ship landed. How long was I in that cryo chamber? How long did you keep me locked away?”

“Two hundred and eleven years, nearly twelve.”

Two hundred years.

“Two hundred years!” Hal slammed a fist against the cage, skin tingling on contact. The metal bars rattled.

“It’ll be two hundred and twelve in the spring. You’re one of the oldest beings on the planet.”

“Oldest,” Hal said immediately. “I’m older than you.”

“In theory. I have lived experience.”

And that was one haughty quip too much.

Hal reached through the bars, aiming for Draven’s throat. The vampire leaned back, avoiding the swipe.

Not to worry. Hal grabbed the handcuffs. The metal burned his palm, but he ignored the pain and yanked Draven forward. The vampire slammed into the bars.

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