Page 14 of Whispers of the Dead

I force a laugh, though it’s hollow and humorless. It sounds foreign even to my own ears. “Well, if we ever meet this Nathan guy, I’ll make sure he regrets it.”

She rolls her head, so she’s looking at me with an unreadable expression. “Don’t bother.”

I shift and press my shoulder against the wall beside me. “Why not? All dregs are the same, aren’t they? They thinkthey’re untouchable, but they’re not, and I’d love to prove it.”

The sound of metal hitting metal echoes through the silence, and I know Damon is gripping his bars with his ring hand, listening and hanging onto every word. I can feel his judgment toward me, but that’s not something to touch on right now.

“When exactly did this happen, Zoey?” I ask, my mouth too dry.

“About a month or so ago. The cut was deep, but not as deep as my stubbornness.” A small smirk tugs at her lips.

“That’s something I can believe. You, I have a scar too. It was also given to me by an awful person.” I hold my hands out through the bars.

Her touch is feather light when she runs her fingertips along the raised skin. “What happened?”

“A cruel man wanted to fight. I didn’t want to. So, of course, I’m the one who wound up with the scar.” I consider telling her more of the story, but I can’t get the words to come out. This isn’t the time. Maybe later.

She tilts her head toward me and amusement flickers across her face. For a moment, I think she can see me. Until she asks her next question. “What do you look like, Benjamin?”

I freeze.

Then blink.

“Benjamin?” I laugh, trying to shake the unnerving feeling curling in my stomach. “No one’s called me that in…well, ever.”

“I call you that all the time when you do something stupid,” Damon says. So helpful, that one.

“Oh? Sounds like it’s story time,” Zoey teases.

“First of all, it doesn’t sound as good coming from your mouth, Damon, as it does from Zoey’s.” I think I see her blush, but it could be the dim lighting. “Second of all, nope.Don’t think so.” I shoot her a smirk and wish she could see it. “Now, not that I’m trying to avoid the subject or anything, but is there any way you’re willing to show me that cut of yours?”

She thinks it over for a moment, then she shrugs. “Sure.”

I turn toward her as she lifts her shirt to expose the angry red scar stretched across her ribs, punctuated by three audible gasps. I reach out before I can stop myself and run the tip of my finger along the raised tissues.

The scar feels worse than it looks, which isn’t reassuring. It’s a sign of hurried healing and not enough rest. “Looks like it might’ve gotten aggravated when that dreg tossed you around,” I murmur. “Wasn’t bothering you before that?”

She shakes her head. “Not really.”

“You let us know if it gets worse.”

She chokes on a laugh. “What are you going to do about it if it does?”

“I don’t know yet, but we’ll figure something out.”

“Thought you guys gave up.”

My hand falls to her knee and rests there. “Maybe all we needed was a little motivation.” I take her hand and smooth it down my hair. “Strawberry blond hair that’s overgrown now from my vacation to the shadows.” I run her fingers down my face. “Hazel eyes, and devilishly good looks. Not as pretty as you, of course.”

She smiles and lifts her hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, but something glints in the light. A fleck of red. My hand shoots up to grab her wrist. “What?—”

I flip her hand over to reveal a smear of blood across her palm. “Zoey,“ I growl out.

“Hey, I thought Damon was the growly one.”

“What’s happening?” Damon demands.

“Zoey,” I repeat.

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