Page 10 of Not With the Eyes

He tasted salty-sweet, gasping into Oberon's mouth before he jerked slightly and dove into the kiss like a man obsessed, stroking his fingers gently against Oberon's cheek before cupping her face, firm but gentle. Oberon let go of his hair to shift to a less awkward angle—well, as less awkward as it could get, given the situation—as Scones's tongue pushed into her mouth and control of the kiss abruptly shifted.

Fuck, she really hated to admit it, but the bastard could kiss. What else could that mouth do?

No. She absolutely was not letting her thoughts wander that road. That way lay stupidity, and she had a strong policy against that.

Tearing away, breaths expelling shakily, Oberon withdrew, barely resisting the urge—the need—to lick her lips. "Not bad for a wet mop. Now get back to work."

Scones stared a moment, eyes filled with more shock than really seemed warranted, and then slowly, stiffly obeyed, hands trembling faintly as he did up his seatbelt, put the car into gear, and pulled back into traffic.

Oberon rested her temple against the passenger window and stared at the landscape beyond, trying desperately to put her mind on anything other than the kiss she could still feel on her lips.

Had she lost her fucking mind? What was she going to do next?

She didn't want to think about it.

Instead of dropping the matter like a sensible person, however, she asked, "Guess I should have asked what your preferences are before doing that. Though it certainly didn't seem like my current formwasn'tyour preference."

The car wavered again, which was hilarious. Scones surely must be the kind of person who could remain unaffected by things that would break most people inside of five minutes. He was a sniper, for crying out loud. Why was he freaking out so much over a kiss and some flirty talk?

Ugh, why was sheflirtingwith a Lachapelle?

"I don't really have preferences, beyond 'old enough to consent' and 'consenting,'" Scones finally replied. "Well, and if they in any way approve of my mother, I leave faster than lightning strikes. Otherwise, I like it all."

"Really?" Oberon asked, interest piqued far more than she liked admitting.

Scones shrugged one shoulder. "Sure. Male. Female. Agender. Bigender. Cis. Trans. Intersex. Whatever. Smaller than me. Bigger than me. Skinny. Fat. It doesn't matter." After a beat he added, "I like people, despite how my kill numbers would suggest otherwise. The problem—"

"The problem?" Oberon echoed.

"Nothing. Forget it."

Oberon let him be. Not hard to guess he was probably going to say something like 'the problem is me'. Being a professional killer and the son of Margaux Lachapelle hardly made one ideal relationship material.

She certainly wasn't one to judge. After her family had been murdered, she'd sworn off relationships entirely. Any and all shapes. The closest she'd come in years was aligning herself with Byron and, by extension, all his other little friends. Even then, she kept all the distance she could. Doing anything else was a fool's game.

"What… what about you?" Scones asked, almost tentatively. "What appeals to a person who can be literally anything and anyone?"

Oberon opened her mouth to say 'none of your damn business,' but that wasn't fair. She'd started this conversation after all. Don't ask questions if you weren't: a) prepared for all possible answers; and b) willing to answer the question yourself.

"Enthusiasm," she said at last, as it was close enough. "I don't want someone who just wants to fuck because they're bored, because there's no one better around, that sort of bullshit. If they're not with me because they want to be with me, desperately and eagerly, then I don't want them. Past that, as you said, consenting and old enough to do so." She pursed her lips. "Someone asked me once if I was able and willing to shift into a child."

"I've heard there are shapeshifters that do that kind of thing for truly impressive amounts of money."

"You could give me your mother's head on a plate, and I still would not let somebody use me to fulfill their fantasy of fucking a child," Oberon said coldly. "Infinitely better than raping an actual child, but I couldn't handle it. I'm impressed that anyone can."

"Me too," Scones with a shudder. "I think I'd put a gun in my mouth if I had to do that even once."

"Good thing you're not a shapeshifter, then. What's it like being a 3-level breezer?"

Scones glanced at her briefly, a cute little mischievous grin curving his mouth.

Damn it. He needed to stop doing things like that. If he didn't, Oberon was going to do something really fucking stupid. Much, much stupider than a simple kiss.

"What's it like being a peasant, you mean?" Scones asked, eyes back on the road. "It's an awareness, I guess you'd call it. Sort of like when you're driving, and you canfeelwhen the car hits or scrapes something, you know? Like that, but sharper. I can feel it, and sometimes coax it to help me out. Hard to miss ashot when the wind itself is willing to listen to you every now and again."

It sounded delightful, but not more delightful than shapeshifting.

"So what it's like for you?" Scones asked. "I never read about shapeshifting hurting, but…"

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