Page 118 of The Silent Note

“I guess I’ll see you later,” Cadence mumbles to me.

I wiggle my fingers.

Cadence rolls her eyes from her perch on Dutch’s shoulder. She swats her upside-down ponytail away from her face and gives me a bemused little wave.

While Dutch trots away with the spoils of his hunt, a shadow blocks the moonlight. I feel a frigid wind and even Sloane shivers as if we were just flung into the middle of an ice bath.

My eyes slide up a pair of long legs, past the arm sling, the broad shoulders and finally to a face hewn in shadows and moonlight and bracketed by raven-black hair.

When I meet Zane’s angry blue stare, my tongue shrivels in my mouth. He’s watching me with an unbridled obsession, one that makes it difficult to tell if the fire burning behind his startling baby blues is from love or hate.

Either way, the flames singe me.

He says nothing and just looks me over, cataloguing every inch of my limbs like he’s searching for the marks he left on my skin today.

I clear my throat. “How did you know I was here?”

He shoots me another dark look.

I hold my ground despite everything inside me throwing out caution signals.

If he wants to have a staring contest like we’re middle school children, fine by me.

Zane blinks first.

I guess I won that round.

“We’re leaving,” he growls.

“I’m not leaving with you,” I snap.

His muscles, each and every one of them, tighten. I see it like a violinist tuning her instrument. One twist too far and the strings will snap and blind her.

Zane looms over me. His lips curl down further. Seeing the way his teeth click and grind reminds me that, despite being younger than me, Zane Cross is much, much bigger. He could flick his fingers and snap my neck in a second.

“You’ve done enough running away, Grey.”

That is definitely not true.

If he caught me, I haven’t run far enough.

I hold my ground. If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s control a rowdy class. On a daily basis, I can rein in a room of entitled, spoiled rich kids. I’ve trained them to read Aristotle and Shakespeare when all they’ve ever read is Jinx’s app and the VIP catalogues from their favorite designers.

If I can do all that, I can control one ticking time bomb of an eighteen year old.

Lifting my chin, I say in my most professional voice, “Zane, if you’re not going to talk nonsense then kindly step aside. I was just about to lea—uh.”

My words are cut off when Zane takes a determined step forward and wraps his arms around me. I’m being crushed against his chest in an instant, my breath hitting the side of his neck.

“What are you doing?” I wheeze.

His heart is beating so fast. Too fast.

I swallow hard. “Zane.”

His hand cups the back of my head and sweeps down over my curls. Abruptly, he pulls back, cups my chin with his one good hand and places a firm, near-punishing kiss on my forehead.

Then he takes my hand and says again in a voice that brooks no argument. “We’re leaving.”