Page 230 of Craving Venom

I stare at the name.

Fucking perfect timing.

I stare for five more seconds before snatching it up and pressing it to my ear without thinking.

“Meet me at the coffee place across from campus,” comes the familiar rasp. “I want you there in fifteen minutes.”

The line dies before I can argue. Sebastian’s always been like that, more my boss than my cousin.

I drag myself off the chair with a grunt. I slap on lip balm and tug on a hoodie that covers my tits enough to stop them from screaming I just got railed. I’m not even sure it helps.

By the time I reach the coffee shop, the sky’s bruised with clouds and the wind bites. The scent of roasted beans and cinnamon sugar hits me first, the bell above the door throwing out a warning I leave behind.

Sebastian’s already sitting in a corner booth. He’s in civilian clothes, but his posture is too straight and his energy too alert. No matter how hard he tries, Sebastian never blends in.

He looks up from his drink. Nods once. No smile.

I slide in across from him and stretch my fingers around the warm ceramic of the mug waiting for me. He ordered for me. He always does.

“You look like shit.” He taps the lid of his espresso with one knuckle.

“Thanks. You always know how to charm a girl.”

He raises an eyebrow while his eyes scan my face, throat, and wrists. He takes in the hoodie and the faint bruise at the edge of my collarbone that I didn’t bother hiding. His jaw tightens.

“How’s college?” he finally asks, tearing a sugar packet in half.

“Fucked,” I grunt, picking at the corner of my cup. “And not in the fun way.”

His gaze sharpens for a beat, but he doesn’t bite.

“I saw your presentation on kinetic profiling. Clean work. Are you going to let your professor butcher it, or fight back this time?”

“I’m not in the mood to fight anyone today.”

“That’s not like you.”

I look out the window, past the glass, past the students walking with their heads down and earbuds in. I watch a dog peeon the campus gate and wish I could swap places with it. Life seems simpler with a full bladder and zero shame.

“Did you sleep at all?”

I narrow my eyes.

“What do you want, Sebastian? I’m sure you didn’t fly all the way from Virginia just to check if I’m holding it together. Unless the CIA’s gone soft.”

The name alone draws a hush around our booth.

“You need to keep your head down for the next few days.”

“What?”

“The Nighthawk is in Veridian.”

My hand jerks. The edge of the cup tips, and hot coffee sloshes over my wrist and onto the table. I hiss through my teeth and grab a napkin to wipe it.

“You want to be a little more subtle?” Sebastian grunts, pressing another napkin over the mess.

I ignore him. “The Nighthawk? The one from—Jesus—he started in Maine, didn’t he? He’s been carving his way across the country like a one-man horror show?”

---