Page 44 of All Your Bloody Lies

I drag my eyes back to look at him. I’m finally able to see all of his arm and chest if I lean forward. Without making it super obvious, Istudy his tattoos while I answer, “I’m satisfied, or rather, full enough. It’s dangerous to overfeed.”

His right arm is entirely covered in a seamless design, a graveyard stretching from the top of his shoulder down to his wrist. There are two skulls and a black cat that reminds me of Mister.

“Why is that?” he asks.

On his left arm, I can see from his elbow an hourglass, which has all the sand completely at the bottom, and on his forearm, a sundial—a design beautifully crafted as though one was just placed there instead of drawn. The black ink compliments his light ebony skin.

It’s then that I see the back of his hand, and it is a stark reminder of the conversation I heard, and what brought him to me in the first place. He is still an Achille dog. It stops me from continuing and inspecting his chest piece.

“I can lose control if I’m overfed,” I say flatly, moving my hand to his and removing it from my thigh.

He doesn’t resist, placing it in his lap and letting out a soft laugh. “I’d enjoy seeing you lose control,” he says, oblivious to the weight of his words. He’s just obsessed. “Maybe next time, I won’t find restraint.”

Resting my head against the headrest, I pull my legs into a crossed position. The breeze from the heater hits between my thighs, reminding me that I’m not wearing panties either.

Silence falls between us, and I’m drifting into the deepest recesses of my mind, thinking about what I’ll need to do once I’m home, contemplating my next move. It’s always where I find myself, never fully in the moment or enjoying what could be a good time.

My life revolves around those damned pieces of shits dying.

I need to find out who hired Mathas. Achille doesn’t hire his own men, but I can start tracing backward. The scent was fresh, which means whoever Mathas was involved with before is my next target. He had it all over him, and while I could assume it was maybe because they were lovers, I could smell pussy on him just as equally. He didn’t strike me as the kind that liked anything else.

All of that is important, but so is getting back in touch with someone in Ansford. I can only hope that Kit didn’t say anything and instead felt embarrassed about the entire ordeal, keeping his mouth shut.

“Where did you go?” I didn’t even realize he had his fingers wrapped around my chin and had pulled my gaze to him. Nor had I gathered we had stopped moving. We were parked in front of a small diner attached to a gas station.

“Nowhere,” I answer, jerking away from him before undoing my seatbelt and stepping from the vehicle.

I’m thankful the shirt is long enough that it’s basically a dress as I stand. The moment my door is closed, Kairhyse is at my side. He offers a smile, but I simply roll my eyes and pace toward the diner.

As I take the first step up, he grabs me by my arm and pulls me back to him. I let out a gasp, actually taken by surprise. “What the fuck?” My tone depicting my feelings in the moment.

He doesn’t say anything, just stares down into my eyes. The hardened expression startles me more than his grip does. I’m completely taken out of the moment and thoughts of food.

“I need to grab a shirt from the convenience store, get us a table,” he says abruptly, releasing his grip, sending me teetering backward on the step. Fortunately, I manage to steady myself by clutching the railing just in time.

What the shit, Kai…

15

Kairhyse

She’s really pissing me off.

After sending her off to secure us a table at the diner, I’m sifting through shirts at the gas station store. The options are limited and ridiculous—it’s either ‘No shirt, no shoes, no snacks–just me’, ‘In a world full of options, choose that one’ with a stupid arrow, or ‘Life is short–eat snacks’.

I contemplate having her switch shirts with me; there’s no way I’m wearing any of these. But then again, maybe not. I like seeing her in my shirt.

Opting for the least offensive of the three, ‘Life is short–eat snacks,’ I chuckle to myself. I’ll just pretend the snack is my little demon.

An older lady is struggling to decide on which lottery scratcher to purchase, and it’s testing my patience. I roll my head back and tap my foot impatiently.

Xeraphine is infuriating. It’s as though she put an anal plug up her ass and forgot to take it out.

She clearly despises affection, that much is clear, but as I’ve told her, she isn’t going to tell me what not to do. When I rested my hand on her thigh in the car, it was for selfish reasons, sure, but also to help calm her down from the nightmare she had.

I lied when she asked if she had been snoring. Instead, she’d been going in and out of screaming for help. I didn’t bring it up becauseshe strikes me as the type who would rather chop off her own head than talk about her issues.

I haven’t broached the subject of why she’s a murderous psychopath targeting Shifters, but I’m beginning to feel the urge to ask. As much as she’s an obsession, I can’t help but want to unravel more about her, even if it’s likely futile. She’s just as stubborn as I am, which I suppose is a major reason I’m attracted to her.

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