Page 58 of Moth
Chapter Twelve
Idon’t know where I’m headed—or maybe Ido, but I just don’t want to admit it to myself as pieces of the city pass by in a blur. Bright lights. Featureless faces. A million different sights, smells, and sounds that barely register until I finally reach a building framed by the taunting visage of a dragon.
The main glass door opens easily when I pull on the handle, but the lights are dimmed inside, and the showroom is deserted. But he’s here—I can smell him. Blindly, I stumble forward, through a darkened hallway and eventually reach a cavernous space illuminated by a single, harsh circle of light.
He stands hunched over a table strewn with loose sheets of paper. His shirt is off, and the artificial light above plays over the bare muscle sculpting his back, giving definition to the dragon. It coils with motion, breathing fire in my presence while he works. I come closer before I can stop myself, spying the work in progress from over his shoulder. My breathing hitches—this drawing is different than the others adorning his walls.
Thinner lines and lighter shapes form a far different creature from his raging dragons. The sketching itself seems hesitant as if he loathes himself for every mark, but he can’t help it. He draws her regardless. A girl with long dark hair and wild bangs; her guarded eyes wide but dark. Her gaze contains a million secrets locked within, seemingly impenetrable to anything or anyone…
Until her creator goes rigid, slashing an involuntary line through her face.
“What are you doing here, rabbit?” he wonders without bothering to turn around, demanding an answer to a question that I don’t even have the nerve to ask myself. He drops the pen, and his fist forms a barrier over the face he’s sketched, marring the details. “Answer the question.”
But I can’t. Maybe I’m just a masochist? Or I’m just spiraling because of one glaring fact that dashes what little harmony I’ve found. Branden wants me to move back. In theory, my brother’s house represents everything safe that I’ve stubbornly left behind, andthisspace dominated bythisirritating man has fucked up what little freedom I’ve strived to find for myself.
Because every time I imagine going back, I hear his voice.You’ve seen a much worse monster. I want to meet that monster. I want to know what makes a little rabbit like you so damn hard she doesn’t flinch when a man presses a knife to her throat.
“You ruined my life,” I shout, arguing against the incorporeal Rafe more than the real thing. I don’t even recognize the voice echoing off the walls. Hannah Dewitt doesn’t sound like this stranger—so bitterly angry. So insane. “You goddamn, selfish asshole!”
“I’m only going to say this once, bunny.” He cocks his head back to face me, letting his fearsome expression drill in the threat. “Get the fuck out.” His hair obscures most of his face, but those eyes lurk behind the jagged strands like predators hunting from the shadows. Only this time, I’m not sure whether or not I’m the prey.
“You ruined my life.” I’m on autopilot. A broken record forced to bleat the same damn thing to anyone who will listen. “Everything is all wrong because ofyou!”
“Good. Because you hated living it anyway, little rabbit. Coming here… You must be fucking suicidal. What? Your boyfriend couldn’t get you off? I don’t think I’ll give you the satisfaction this time. Get the fuck out.”
I try to counter his hostility with a bitter laugh that comes out sounding broken. “You don’t scare me. You’re just a criminal—” I jab my hand into my bag and withdraw an object I’ve been carrying with me all this time. His lighter. “A stupid one who lets a little rabbit steal from him.”
He chuckles. “So you aren’t just suicidal. You’re fucking crazy.” The venom in his tone shocks me when paired with the look in his eyes; it’s so cold. Terrifying.
I’ve been numb for so long, the fear shoots through me like a lance, different from anything I feel around Branden. It’s electrifying.
He’s a furnace, throwing off rage like heat. From how his shoulders are set in a rigid line down to his clenched jaw. Behind him, the drawing in progress spills out like an ominous warning. Wide-eyed Hannah, her lips parted.Run.
“Why are you here?” he demands, pivoting to block my view once again. “Fucking admit it.”
He advances on me without warning. My back strikes the wall because I’m too unfamiliar with this layout, and he’s too fast, closing in the moment I falter.
“Still bored, little rabbit?” His thumb prods my chin. The pad of it is wet and leaves behind something that smells sharp—ink.
I push away from him, desperate to ignore the way his heat eats through my skin. After a few shaky steps forward, I realize I’m not heading in the smart direction toward the door. I go straight for his table instead, toward the figure mocking me. I hate that she’s beautiful in a way I could only dream of embodying. Her smile belongs to a stranger, and her eyes are so wide, they resemble camera lenses. Watching. Watching. Always.
But never fucking living.
Before I know it, the lighter is in my hand again, raised higher. My thumb flicks the spark wheel once. Twice. Like magic, a flame appears, promising destruction.
And I lunge, pressing it to the paper.
It ignites in a beautiful, horrifying display of color. Pale yellow. Brilliant orange. Tinges of red… All of it devours his image of me in an instant.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He grabs my arm—hard. A cry rips from my lips as the force spins me around. Desperate, I lash out with the one weapon I have on hand—the lighter.
“Let me go!”
“Fucking…stop!” He wrestles the lighter away from me and throws it. The fire has already died, smothered by his batting hands.
In a frantic search for another weapon, my grasping fingers find something thin and round lying on his desk. A pen. I throw it at his chest, and it breaks, splattering black paint across the dragon’s wings. “I said, let me go!”
He retaliates by stepping in, gripping my shoulders and snatching me toward him. “Get the fuck out. Go run back to Bran—”
