Page 65 of The Sinner and the Scholar
Vepar’s taunts are fresh and sharp in my mind. Without looking, I know the crescent wounds on my palms are puffy and sore. Tiny cuts from the broken vial of holy water also hurt, but they’re not bleeding anymore.
I know all there is to know about Vepar and what that swelling on my skin could mean. Is she trying to influence me again? Or is this paranoia? Before I dwell on it, I clench my fists and bury them deeper beneath my hoodie.
“What are you hiding?”
My gaze lifts to Thea. Intelligent eyes pierce me.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You’re keeping secrets. I want to know what they are.”
I look out the window at the endless blue sky.
She pushes off her seat and slams her palms onto my armrests. The smell of vodka hits my face. I glance at her seat to count the empty bottles. Only three. She leans forward, fiery eyes glued to mine. I should be offended, but I’m too distracted by how her hair dangles over one shoulder. How a flushed complexion still graces her cheeks. When those nuns chose her to join their team, they knew exactly what they were doing. She’s heart-stopping.
Her pose arches her back, pushes forward her chest and accentuates supple breasts beneath her tight black shirt. I swallow a groan. Her nipples are erect and straining through the damp fabric. Heat floods my groin, and I squirm at the uncomfortable pressure building.
Use her—I’m your only friend.
“Show me your hands.” She props a knee between my legs, forcing my thighs open. My breath hitches as she makes contact with my erection, and heat floods my cheeks. She probably knew I was hard the instant it happened.
Distrust is the last thing I see when I look into her eyes. I see shadows and ghosts. Pain. Angst. Desperation. I can’t even imagine what horrors put it all there. I thought this ambush was about my secrets, but she must feel something else.
Why not mention the manuscript? Or the fact we all lied about not speaking English. Why start with my hands? Even if I showed them, she’d see normal wounds. I hide them because… I’m not ready to reveal that fear.
So why does she start with this unless she’s just picking a fight to release tension? I don’t think she knows another way of dealing with her emotions—the battle with Alice proved it. They can’t show weakness.
Use her before she uses you.
“Don’t be absurd.” I dismiss her again.
“Wesley, show me your hands.”
“I’m not in the mood for your games, Thea.”
She blinks. A flash of grief passes over her features, and then it’s gone, replaced by the same antagonizing creature she was in the alley. She snatches my wrist, intending to inspect my palm, but my anger collides with my fear. I shove her. She falls back into her chair so hard that her head whips back, and she grunts. My eyes widen in shock. An apology is on the tip of my tongue, but she faces me with a smirk.
“There he is,” she says, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “I’ve been waiting for him to return.”
“Are you insane? I don’t want to hurt you. Stop whatever this is you’re doing.”
She reaches for my hands, but I fight her off. We grapple. She’s relentless, but I can’t.I can’t.The moment she sees the wounds, it’s real.
“Fine,” I say through clenched teeth. “I know you stole the manuscript.”
She pauses her assault long enough to ask, “Then why didn’t you say something?”
Think of something.“I’d hoped you’d own up to it and prove everyone wrong.”
Thea gives a throaty laugh. “That’s a lie.”
She grapples with my hands, I knee her off me, and then unbuckle to stand. Then I shove her again—two palms to her chest.
“Enough,” I bark, eyes flashing.
Desperation. Wildness. Pain. Anguish. It’s consuming her, taking over.
“You’re lying to me, too.” I shake my head in disbelief. “You want me to spill my guts, but you’re so blocked up you need a laxative.”
