Page 58 of The Blood we Crave

I shake my head, clicking my tongue against the roof of my mouth. That mouth of hers that loves to make random appearances is going to be the death of her. Literally. It will be the reason I choke her to death.

“Now isn’t the time to be cute,” I warn. “Now, say it.”

A blush heats her face. “Say what?”

My mouth waters, a smirk tugging at my lips, the way she so blindly obeys me. My every command, every thought, every movement. She follows it so well every single time.

“Tell me you’re a killer.”

“Why?”

“Because if you can’t even say it, how do you plan on murdering someone? If you can’t even mutter the words, how will you get rid of a dead body? How will you be able to go through with it when they’re begging for their lives? When they tell you about their families and all the things they will leave behind when you kill them? Accept it, or this will be for nothing.”

Standing there in yellow rain boots, chewing on the inside of her cheek, she knows I’m right, so what is holding her back? What’s stopping her?

“Every day, I look in the mirror and see what I am, Thatcher. I see the thing—” She swallows, placing her hand on her chest. “—I have kept chained away, the thing that no one else has ever seen. I have hidden it, hidden myself my entire life in order to protect people from it. To protect whatever is left of Scarlett from it.”

She looks at me, eyes so green it’s impossible to do the color justice. Pure and luring, a whimsical forest pulling people inside, but I know once you allow yourself inside, there will be no getting out. It would be easy to get lost in a forest like that. In eyes like hers.

“I know that I’m a killer, that the craving that lives inside of me is one that is sated only by death. I know this, Thatch.”

“Then why are you holding back?”

Multiple questions pop into my brain, and I’m thankful my mouth went with that one. Because the others are thoughts I want gone. Immediately.

Is Lyra’s monster the same one that lives inside of me? Did my father create the same seed of evil in both of us? Are we truly more connected than I originally thought?

“I’m sure you don’t understand this concept because you aretheThatcher Pierson.” The air quotes around my name feel a bit unnecessary, but I do love a flair for the dramatics, so I let it slide without a snarky comment, allowing her to continue. “But I’m afraid. I fear what I will become when I let it out, when I allow myself to give in to the urge.”

I know somewhere there is a rule against what I’m about to say, but if there is one thing I’m not, it’s a liar.

“You should be afraid, Lyra Abbott. What you live with should scare you—it should scare anyone who comes in contact with you,” I say, pressing my foot on the open piece of grass. “Let it scare you, but never let it stop you.”

I reach into my jacket pocket, feeling the weight of her stare on my face.

“Now, enough talking.” If she keeps speaking, it’ll be pitch-black outside before she even gets started.

A gust of wind breezes past, rattling the measuring tape in my hand as I pull it from my pocket. I remember when my father brought me out here. What he made me do to prove what I was, who I was, and the consequences of me not accepting those facts.

Lyra should be lucky I’m only honest.

“You’re going to dig a hole six feet deep. Not an inch less or an inch more.”

Her eyebrows furrow, the shake of her head coming before her words. “What? Why?”

“Well, because you begged me with your sad little eyes to teach you. That’s what I’m doing,” I snap.I’m teaching you exactly what I learned.But I keep that to myself.

“I’m grateful, but I just don’t understand—”

“I want you to dig a grave, Lyra. Your grave. Is that simple enough for your cloudy brain to understand, or should I spell it out for you?”

I’m not sure how it’s possible for someone with a complexion like snow to turn any paler, but she does. The dusty pink rose that highlights her cheeks depletes. She takes a step back from me, and something primal in me clicks in my gut.

“Bailing out so quickly, pet? I expected you to last until disembowelment. How disappointing.” I click my tongue with a shake of my head, stepping towards her, closing the gap that she is trying to put between us. “Digging the hole you are going to spend the rest of eternity buried inside of if you tell anyone about this, that’s too much for you? This is just an insurance policy. This is child’s play.”

Panic blossoms across her face, and I grin.

“That’s it, pet. Be frightened—I like you that way. Terrified to cross me, to lie, to mumble a single word about this to anyone.”