Page 24 of The Blood we Crave

“Let’s not twist this, Lyra. I came to find you in order to settle a debt. I saved you once, and you returned that favor. I wanted to end this little habit you have of following me around,” I sneer, not liking the way she said my name with so much disrespect. “I wouldn’t have spoken to you if I knew you’d try to proposition me.”

Her round face flushes pink, the same way it did when I’d revealed that I knew about her secret. That she enjoyed being a voyeur, stalking me. I thought it was because of our history, that she was somehow waiting to rescue me from harm the way I’d done for her. When I was weak and young, before I knew what I was. What I was capable of.

But she’d surprised me.

“Have you even considered what I asked?”

“No,” I say sharply, leaving no room for question.

It’s a lie.

I have thought about it, more than I wanted to. More than I should and not because it’s something I like thinking about. Her offer won’t leave my mind, just sitting there pestering me, like an annoying fly.

Those jade-colored eyes flare with irritation, but instead of letting it out, she keeps it in, suppressing herself. Something she’s probably spent her entire life doing, constantly swallowing the part of her that’s all teeth and claws, afraid of what would happen if she allowed the darker parts of her out to play.

But that is not my issue, nor is it something I care about.

“I won’t tell anyone if that’s what you’re concerned about.” She tries to brush her curls behind her ears, but they aren’t strong enough to contain their weight. “If you teach me, I promise I won’t tell a soul. I’m good at keeping secrets, at being invisible.”

“I have only not noticed you because I chose not to. I chose to ignore your presence. Not because you’re good at creeping on me.” Her chin wobbles at my tone, and it makes me press further, fueling me to slice her open. “You do not and have never existed to me.”

To her credit, even though I know for a fact my words have landed a hard blow, she pushes forward, which both impresses and irritates me.

“I’m a quick learner. It would only be a few sessions, just a few tips. That’s all I’m asking for. I just…” She twists her hands together. “I need help dealing with…thisthing.”

I scoff. “A few sessions? Do you think that’s all it takes to be what I am? It took years to perfect my craft. Years I will not waste on someone who can’t even accept what lives inside you. You can’t even admit it out loud, can you?”

Her head lifts, meeting my harsh gaze. There is so much going on inside those big eyes, so many feelings that I’ve thankfully never had to experience.

How many times has she looked into the mirror and flinched because she can see what her flesh hides from the world? How many times has she tried to rationalize that the night her mother was murdered didn’t infect her with something wicked?

“Admit what?” she says. “Tell me what I need to say so that you’ll teach me, Thatcher, and I’ll say it.”

Something boils in my gut. Something toxic and unclean. Hot, sticky, and dirty. Something that doesn’t belong in my system. It flashes white-hot in my veins, and it’s all because of her begging. Begging me. Pleading for me.

Fury unlike anything I’ve ever experienced seers my blood.

No. No. No.

You are in control of this situation. She is not allowed to affect you this way. People do not impact you, Thatcher Pierson.

I take a step away from her, then another, until I can no longer smell cherries. I glance down at my watch before giving her a bored stare.

“I will not teach you how to be a killer because you can’t accept you already are one. Sloppy, untrained, and impulsive, but one nonetheless. Now, for the last time, I’m finished with this conversation.” I shove my hands into my pockets, turning around. “Indefinitely.”

Now I can continue my life the way it was before—ignoring her completely, forgetting I even knew her. She can continue her petty games if she likes, but I’m done giving her the attention she so desperately wants.

“You owe me this! Your father is the reason I’m—” she shouts at me, her voice louder than I’ve ever heard before. “—I’m all twisted up and sick inside. It’s his fault. You at least owe me this favor, Thatcher. Please, teach me how to live with this.”

The fundamental principles of my life are simple.

Routine. Control. Kill.

That is it. There is nothing else.

But with those four words, she has cracked one of those.

I owe her?