Page 94 of The Sinner and the Scholar
A knock comes at the door.
“They’re back!” shouts Tawny and opens the door.
I scowl at her intrusion. Why does everyone think they have a right to come in without an invitation? Her blond hair is unwashed, and she has dark circles under her eyes. Of all of us who remained, she stayed by Prue’s bed the most. When she catches my expression, she asks, “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“But if you’re not, you know I—”
“I said, I’m fine, Tawny.”
“Okay, okay. I got it.” She gives me the side-eye but doesn’t push. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”
After she leaves, I gather my things. Thea and Wesley left a few days ago to find a holy relic they hoped would help Prue, and I honestly didn’t believe it existed. The manuscript they based their intel on was so vague, and if it weren’t for the strange Sight this gospel gives us girls, I would have told them not to waste their time.
But apparently, it was a success. Yippee.
I hurry into the hallway but crash into Zeke. We’re a tangle of limbs and confusion.
“You fucking kidding me?” I shove him away.
He stumbles back, a smirk on his handsome lips. It’s been decades, but he still looks the same—better. Adulthood has turned all his soft lines hard, but it’s also made him a forgetful asshole. I use my shoulder to punch him out of the way.
“Psycho,” he grumbles and grabs his arm.
I spin. “As if you can’t take it.”
He’s a dirty street fighter. His nose has been broken. Little scars over his eyebrows, ears, jaw, and cheekbones are precisely the kind you get from brawling. And I know how he got the slash beneath his chin firsthand.
My words have the opposite effect than I intended. His hazel eyes sparkle with a challenge.
“But I can give a lot more,” he drawls suggestively.
“You’re revolting.”
“You love it.”
“I want to puke.”
“You want to fuck me.”
“I want to murder you.” My shriek erupts from my heart, shocking him with its intensity.
“What’s your problem?” His brows lower.
“My problem? Are you serious?”
“Yeah, your problem.” He shoves my shoulder with two fingers.
The explosion of anger in my body evaporates. I still. My mind empties to the killing calm all Sinners have. With slow, deliberate movements, I glance at where he still touches me. Then I slowly return my gaze to his face.
I never noticed his eyes were jaundiced before. He quickly looks away, shoves his hands in his torn jeans pockets, and jogs down the stairs.
“If you’re spoiling for a fight, Zeke,” I shout after him. “I’m your huckleberry.”
He pauses halfway down the steps.
“Go on,” the matron says, her voice deep and husky. “Go join the others.”
