Page 5 of Blood

Oh, right.

We’re not as horrible as some of the other monsters out there.

Alex continues, oblivious to the direction my thoughts just headed. Or, perhaps, he’s just so used to me flying straight into la-la land that he chooses to ignore the dazed look in my eyes.

“Members are voted onto the council every twenty years,” Alex continues, reciting facts I already know. Still, there’s a difference between knowing and knowing, if you know what I mean. You know?

Like, I can learn how to dismember a body in class, but when I actually apply the teachings to real life, it’s an entirely different experience. Suddenly, all the immaculate notes I’ve made fly out the window, and I’m stuck staring at a severed limb like a deer in headlights. What do I use my bonesaw for? How do I burn away skin? Where can I bury the remains?

I’m sure every student deals with these profound questions at least once in their life.

The few times I’ve learned about the monster council, I dismissed the teachings the way a high schooler would a biology lesson on cellular regeneration. Why would I ever need to know this? Now, I suddenly wish I had paid more attention during class and the numerous times Dad talked to me about the elusive council and the monsters who reside on it.

“The most important monster on the council is the White Stag,” Alex tells me gravely, steepling his hands together beneath his chin.

“The White Stag?” I parrot, trying to recall what I learned of that particular myth. “Isn’t it a...deer?”

Alex has his hand over my mouth before I can even finish speaking—the word deer sounds like “duhreer.”

“Do not, under any circumstances, refer to the White Stag as a deer,” he warns me ominously, not removing his hand from my mouth.

Is it not...a deer? Is it a buck? What’s the difference?

A moose? Are stags mooses?

I make a mental note to research stags as soon as I’m at a computer.

When Alex doesn’t seem inclined to move his hand, I open my mouth instinctively. My tongue brushes along his palm, causing him to curse and pull away. His eyes widen in disbelief.

“Did you just lick me?” he asks incredulously, blinking repeatedly.

I ignore his “licking” comment.

Licking...

Caressing with my tongue...

Is there really a difference?

I have to bite down the smile that threatens to erupt as I think about what Mason would say to this. He would, no doubt, agree with my assessment of licking and say something like, “It’s not licking. It’s touching with a body part that isn’t a hand or foot.”

Fuck, I miss him.

Grief threatens to erode the walls I’ve attempted to erect around my heart. Acid splashes against the hardened surface, and huge holes materialize throughout.

Mason...

I clear my throat and try to focus on the matter at hand.

I’m doing this for you, Mase.

I’m surviving for you.

“So, the White Stag? Why is this bitch so scary?”

“It’s a he, actually,” Alex corrects, but I merely shrug.

Men can be bitches too. It’s sexist to believe only females are.

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