Page 29 of Creatures Like Us

Noah already has it in his hand.

How did he react so quickly?

His teeth gleam in the darkness as he fights for the upper hand, and something else gleams too: the sharp edge of his knife. Before I have time to react, he pins my wrists above my head in one hand, and in his other, he holds the knife, and he presses the blade to my throat.

This again. Shit. This time, it’s for real.

Panting, I try to fight, try to struggle, but Noah pushes the knife so hard against my throat I can barely breathe. It’s the blunt edge, not the sharp one, but it still hurts like a bitch. Noah is panting too, showing more emotion than I’ve seen since that time in the bath. He’s scowling, mouth twisted in a snarl. I try to buck and heave him off me, but he’s way stronger than I am, especially in my weakened state.

I don’t have a chance.

I go limp, head tipped back in surrender, callinghisbluff this time. “Do it.” My pulse soars in my ears as I await that pain. The adrenaline surging through my veins is hot and scalding. “Do it!”

Noah’s eyes widen, and his mouth parts. “I?…”

Taking advantage of his hesitation, I try to buck him off me again, but all it does is make the knife slip. It cuts through myshirt and bites into my bicep. It’s a shallow cut, but it still hurts like hell.

“Ow!” I yelp.

Noah leans back. “Shit. I’m sorry, Ash.”

“You don’t look sorry,” I snarl, my fury overriding the pain.

“I’m sorry for that too.”

“Not sorry enough.”

We breathe heavily, staring at each other. Then the strangest thing happens.

Noah goes limp too. His grip on me loosens as he drops the knife, and it clatters to the floor by our side.

I waste no time in taking my chance; it might be the only one I’ve got.

I heave myself upward, bringing Noah with me, and there’s little resistance as I flip our positions, pinning him to the bed with his wrists in my hands. We’re both panting, his breath puffing against my chin, but from his crazed, angry expression from earlier, nothing remains. Now his face is blank again, infuriatingly so.

No fear.

No anger.

Just?…?nothing.

With a scowl, I let go of his wrists to wrap my hands around his throat instead. He sucks in a breath before he surrenders to that too.

He just looks at me, those black holes for eyes fixed on mine. His skin is burning hot, pulse tapping furiously against my fingers. Even though he doesn’t struggle, his body is desperate for life.

I bear down on his windpipe. Hard. Harder. I’ve never tried to strangle anyone before, but I believe you have to apply quite a bit of pressure for the desired result.

His face goes red at first, then a faint shade of blue. I can’t see that well in this darkness, but still, he doesn’t give an inch of struggle. He could overpower me easily if he wanted to—he did before—but for some inexplicable reason, he doesn’t.

Why? Why don’t you struggle?

My eyes fill with tears of frustration. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Either he’d kill me, or I’d kill him, but we would both struggle during it.

I can’t kill a man who doesn’t struggle.

I can’t kill a man who makes it seem as if hewantsme to kill him.

There’s no sense in it, but somehow, through all my heightened emotions and fear, my desires shift. Having him panting and warm and soft underneath me does something weird to my insides.