then opened my mouth to try and bite him, but he shook his head, staring at me with eyes that glowed even brighter blue. His eyes didn’t look young. His eyes burned with so much raw energy he made my father’s look dead.
“I know you,” he said slowly, like he had a hard time forming the words. “You were at the art gallery, the slaughter.” His eyes narrowed at me like he had a hard time remembering what he was doing. “Do you know where it is?”
I stared at him, eyes watering as I tried not to blink first. He shook his head, slightly disoriented before he continued speaking, faster this time. “You’re the one I compelled, the one I brought to stop the idiot Hotblood from killing me. Not exactly a warrior, are you? Oh well, you’ll do.”
I glared at him, at least I hoped it was a glare, and he seemed to notice that he still had his hand over my mouth. He removed it, looking around with a scowl, like he was looking for the best exit. Without his eyes on me he looked pathetic and helpless, but my aching throat told a different story.
“You compelled me?” I demanded, but my voice came out a quiet hiss that Grim would hardly notice. “You’re Cool and a Hotblood. You’re a Hybrid like me.”
“Yes, like you,” he agreed, looking at me with those shocking blue eyes again that made me wish that I’d said something different, something that would intimidate him and make him stop staring at me. He had multiple broken bones; he had to be in pain. “You understand what it’s like, being torn apart by two extremes, the chilling cold and the blistering heat, how it feels to never be whole, one, a complete entity, always struggling to maintain sanity. I must have it. You must help me.”
“I don’t have to…” I began, but his hand gripped my wrist painfully and it wasn’t only the pressure that made my bone feel like it was about to be crushed, it was the wave of heat that poured out of him, fire that physically burned me. I yelped. He let go, looking down at my wrist the same time I did, at the white skin with red weals shaped like his fingers.
“You must help me,” he said, differently this time, cajoling me like Snowy would have done with her batting eyelashes.
“Help you with what?” I backed away from him, hoping that the broken legs would keep him where he was. “I think you’re crazy. It’s only a matter of time before you’re taken out, and I’m sorry, sort of, but it’s nothing to do with me, except that you compelled me.” I had made up my mind to rush out of the room to find Grim, even if he was talking to Hotbloods. I could turn over this basically psycho Hybrid before he burned, me, choked me, or did something else even less pleasant.
“You’re right, I am mad, but that’s why I must have it, so that I can finally have peace, finally stop the pain right here,” he said, gripping his chest with his hand like he was prepared to rip out his own heart with his fingertips.
“What are you talking about? What could make you sane? You sound crazy just talking about it.”
“The cane. The cane. You must remember the cane. It was at the warehouse, that’s what I broke in to find, not to steal something belonging to that over-starched Hotblood, nothing that truly belongs to him, except that he didn’t have it, and I lost my temper. I didn’t mean to, but I can’t remember sometimes what’s real and what’s only memories, someone else’s memories.” His eyes became more cloudy, less piercing as he seemed lost in thought. His thin face did have acne, and his shoulders were hunched while his narrow fingers picked at the blue blanket over his legs.
“You’re talking about Old Peter’s cane?” I asked, quietly, hating that I had to remember that I’d killed him.
“Yes. You must get it for me.” He looked at me eagerly, raptly, his eyes shining again with a brilliance that was completely unnerving.
“I can’t get it for you; I don’t even have a car much less the
“I know you,” he said slowly, like he had a hard time forming the words. “You were at the art gallery, the slaughter.” His eyes narrowed at me like he had a hard time remembering what he was doing. “Do you know where it is?”
I stared at him, eyes watering as I tried not to blink first. He shook his head, slightly disoriented before he continued speaking, faster this time. “You’re the one I compelled, the one I brought to stop the idiot Hotblood from killing me. Not exactly a warrior, are you? Oh well, you’ll do.”
I glared at him, at least I hoped it was a glare, and he seemed to notice that he still had his hand over my mouth. He removed it, looking around with a scowl, like he was looking for the best exit. Without his eyes on me he looked pathetic and helpless, but my aching throat told a different story.
“You compelled me?” I demanded, but my voice came out a quiet hiss that Grim would hardly notice. “You’re Cool and a Hotblood. You’re a Hybrid like me.”
“Yes, like you,” he agreed, looking at me with those shocking blue eyes again that made me wish that I’d said something different, something that would intimidate him and make him stop staring at me. He had multiple broken bones; he had to be in pain. “You understand what it’s like, being torn apart by two extremes, the chilling cold and the blistering heat, how it feels to never be whole, one, a complete entity, always struggling to maintain sanity. I must have it. You must help me.”
“I don’t have to…” I began, but his hand gripped my wrist painfully and it wasn’t only the pressure that made my bone feel like it was about to be crushed, it was the wave of heat that poured out of him, fire that physically burned me. I yelped. He let go, looking down at my wrist the same time I did, at the white skin with red weals shaped like his fingers.
“You must help me,” he said, differently this time, cajoling me like Snowy would have done with her batting eyelashes.
“Help you with what?” I backed away from him, hoping that the broken legs would keep him where he was. “I think you’re crazy. It’s only a matter of time before you’re taken out, and I’m sorry, sort of, but it’s nothing to do with me, except that you compelled me.” I had made up my mind to rush out of the room to find Grim, even if he was talking to Hotbloods. I could turn over this basically psycho Hybrid before he burned, me, choked me, or did something else even less pleasant.
“You’re right, I am mad, but that’s why I must have it, so that I can finally have peace, finally stop the pain right here,” he said, gripping his chest with his hand like he was prepared to rip out his own heart with his fingertips.
“What are you talking about? What could make you sane? You sound crazy just talking about it.”
“The cane. The cane. You must remember the cane. It was at the warehouse, that’s what I broke in to find, not to steal something belonging to that over-starched Hotblood, nothing that truly belongs to him, except that he didn’t have it, and I lost my temper. I didn’t mean to, but I can’t remember sometimes what’s real and what’s only memories, someone else’s memories.” His eyes became more cloudy, less piercing as he seemed lost in thought. His thin face did have acne, and his shoulders were hunched while his narrow fingers picked at the blue blanket over his legs.
“You’re talking about Old Peter’s cane?” I asked, quietly, hating that I had to remember that I’d killed him.
“Yes. You must get it for me.” He looked at me eagerly, raptly, his eyes shining again with a brilliance that was completely unnerving.
“I can’t get it for you; I don’t even have a car much less the
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