Page 16 of Sloth
“I’m sorry.” Max crouched and touched her foot. The instant he connected, lightning flashed in her head and she cried out. Something was happening to her brain.
“Just get out of here,” Wyatt snapped at Max. “I’ll contact you if we need you.”
Max worked his jaw, clearly wanting to retaliate with a retort, but he bit it back. He gathered his duffel bag and went for the door. Just before he left, he turned, shot a ferocious look at Wyatt, then said to Sloan, “I’ll check in later.”
Flint walked him out, speaking soft words, but Sloan missed what they said. She was too busy coming to terms with the fact that her headache was linked to Max. The further he went, the more her pain abated until it was gone all together.
“You don’t get headaches, Sloan.” Mary looked down at her, shrewd eyes picking up what Wyatt had not; Sloan’s Yin-Yang tattoo had moved from its unbalanced marker to complete equal parts black and white. The only time any of their tattoos moved so swiftly back into balance was when one of them met their lifemate—a person who embodied their sin’s opposing virtue.
Was Max… was Max her mate?
Four
Sloan kepther revelation to herself for two days. Two days of hiding out in her room, staying away from people, and dealing with the odd flash of pain in her head. Something had happened to her brain after connecting with Max. Whether it was TV, or in real life, any time she watched someone get hurt or receive pleasure, she felt it in her own body. If this was her power manifesting, what kind of fucked up one was it?
Evan could control electricity. Griffin could manipulate metal. Wyatt was invulnerable. And Sloan? She could get a fucking headache when her enemy went down. Whoopdie-doo.
She wanted to cry.
Instead, she hid out in her room, working out using stupid things like Thigh-masters and Sit-up machines, or hiding under her covers until Thursday came around and a loud knock banged at her door. When the pounding failed to abate, anxiety crept into her system and she lifted her covers higher on up her body. She’d deliberately ignored all text messages and phone calls. What happened with Max shook her to the core.
The black cat at the foot of her bed released a low warning growl.
“My thoughts exactly, Luna.” They could go away.
The door clicked, and Sloan swore. They must have the master key. A surge of panic and fury washed through Sloan as the door opened. “Go away!”
Luna lifted on her paws, back arching with a hiss.
Sloan sat up. The cat never got aggressive. Sure, she made the odd growling rumble from time to time, but she looked down right murderous and ready to pounce at whoever walked through the apartment door. It was almost as if the cat felt Sloan’s emotions—or vice versa.
Sloan gathered the kitty into her arms and stroked her back. “Shh. It’s probably just Wyatt. I was being stupid.”
The gala was tomorrow night, and she had run out of time to get her hair done or to buy a dress as per Parker’s instructions. King Pee was a jackass for telling her what to do. He may be the leader of their team, but he was a snob.
She’d not always been ratty-haired and sloppy-clothed. She used to like funky clothes, and gamer themed accessories. She used to tie her long black hair into high pigtails with buns on the top, tails streaming down her back, just like her favorite manga character. She wore cosplay themed clothing and cool T-shirts. Sloan was part of the nerd herd and she loved it.
“Yes, it’s just Wyatt.” The man in question stopped at her open bedroom door. Misha’s blond, curly hair poked in from behind.
“Hi, Sloan!” Misha waved. “We’ve missed you. You okay? Wyatt—oof. Move aside man.” Misha tried to push the big warrior of wrath, but he wouldn’t budge until he gave Sloan’s room a furtive once-over.
“Jeez, bras. No baddies in here,” she teased. “Misha’s safe to enter.”
“No baddies. Just stale air.” He scrunched his nose. “When was the last time you opened a window?”
“Last night when I ordered pizza.” Sloan poked her tongue at him as he moved to her bedroom window, brushing aside the drapes so he could get to the pane.
Misha looked good. Glowing, as they often said. Her yoga-trim, well looked after body, barely showed the tiniest of belly bumps. Sloan could only tell because she knew how super flat Misha’s stomach was before. Misha grew the first of the next Lazarus generation and she couldn’t be happier. Then again, she was always happy.
She bounced over to Sloan’s bed. “Ooh. Kitty cat.”
Both Sloan and Luna tensed with the sudden approach. Sloan forced herself to calm, and the cat did too.
Wyatt snorted. “It’s true what they say.”
“What’s that, Wyatt?” She scowled at him, very conscious of her two-day-old appearance. He better watch what he said next.
“Like owner, like pet.”
