Page 57 of Surface Scratch
He felt Matteo uncurl his fingers and winced as the cuts on his hand stretched. He could feel them pulling open with his hand, the cool air invading the inside of the wounds and making him feel lightheaded. Yeah. They were deep.
Caleb shut his eyes as he waited to feel the washcloth rubbing the cuts, beginning to feel pathetic. Did he need someone to do this for him? It felt oddly intimate. But then again, the way all of them acted was oddly intimate. Maybe being alive as long as they had been made them less inclined to restrain themselves from touching others whenever they wanted. Marcus was certainly touchy-feely in every sense.
Vincent was too. But in an I-want-to-hurt-you kind of way.
Fuck, how am I going to explain this whole mess to Marcus?He felt himself flush with another surge of guilt and regret. He should have refused to get in the truck. He swallowed a pained grunt as Matteo closed his fingers back into his palm, forming a fist, determined not to think about the skin on his fingertips feeling slick and loose.
God, why am I such a wimp? I bet Ophelia would just wrap her hand in duct tape and call it a scratch.
He pursed his lips as Matteo’s hand squeezed his fist tighter, sending sharp jabs of pain up into his wrist and elbow. When he finally forced himself to look at what Matteo was doing, his protest caught in his throat. Matteo was staring at the blood dripping from his clenched fist, his eyes having reverted to black and green, and his formerly gentle face having hardened and his jaw clenched tight. Caleb looked down at a cup flecked with old toothpaste catching the steady drip of blood from his palm.
Caleb’s head began swimming at the sight, his entire being suddenly feeling like it was on the verge of a violent dry heave. This was wrong. This was really, really wrong.
He tried to open his mouth to yell for Tariq, but his jaw refused to move, not a single sound coming from behind lips that seemed like they had fused together. He tried to pull his hand away, but Matteo gripped his palm harder, breaking his stare from the steady drops of blood to look at Caleb.
Matteo pressed a finger to Caleb’s lips. “It’s okay,” he mouthed. Caleb kept his arm tense as Matteo uncurled his fingers again and shoved the rapidly cooling washcloth into his bloody palm.
He tapped his thumb and first two fingers together a few times and mouthed, “No,” then formed his index and middle finger into hooks, tapping them against the back of his other hand, held flat in front of himself, mouthing, “Bite.” He pressed his finger to his chin for a moment before bringing the hand down and splaying his fingers out against his other hand, then mouthed, “Promise.”
Caleb’s jaw stayed locked as he tried to form words again, his eyes burning as he watched, unblinking, as Matteo raised the cup to his lips. There was something really gross about seeing blood be consumed like that. He had already deduced that every time he saw Marcus drinking anything, there was blood in it, and even Vincent’s blood-Champagne concoction wasn’t all that jarring, but seeing it go straight from his body into a cup and then to Matteo’s lips made him queasy.
The impromptu lesson in sign language also added to his chaotic confusion. Plus the fact that he had suddenly lost the ability to open his mouth.
He shuddered as a peaceful look fell over Matteo’s face, his features softening as the black retreated from his eyes. He grabbed the notepad and scribbled on it before he turned it toward Caleb.
“Took the edge off.Keep secret. Don’t tell Graves.”
Matteo nodded and mouthed, “No shouting.” He gently removed the washcloth from Caleb’s hand and inspected the injury before hastily rummaging through the bathroom cabinets.
Maybe it was the shock of the corpse in the other room, but he couldn’t help being intrigued. Marcus had said that Vincent was responsible for obtaining a steady supply of blood from Chicago, or the local hospitals and clinics in bribes. However, according to Tariq, he hadn’t fed for some time.
Caleb took the notepad and began to write another note. “Are you doing this? I can’t move my mouth.I promiseI won’t yell.”
Matteo read the note. He made the same sign as before for “Promise,” cocking his head as he did. Caleb wrote hastily, “I promise.”
Matteo ripped open several packages of small gauze pads, glancing at the notepad as he placed them carefully over the wounds on Caleb’s fingertips. He started wrapping an elastic bandage over the gauze-covered fingers, then paused and sniffed the air, his eyes narrowing and an uncertain frown forming on his face. He began wrapping the bandage quickly and haphazardly over Caleb’s hand.
The muscles in Caleb’s jaw relaxed, but before he could open his mouth, Vincent rushed silently into the bathroom, not even his shoes making a sound against the tile. He pulled the door shut behind him and locked it, then glanced between them, his eyebrow rising as he eyed the toothbrush cup on the counter.
“What’s going on?” Caleb asked, jumping up. Vincent didn’t look panicked, per se, but he did have a look of urgency on his face.
Vincent signed as he spoke. “They’re here.”
He moved over to the small frosted window above the toilet, pushing up on it. The waning daylight hit his hands, making the skin sizzle and begin to bubble. He grimaced and stepped away from it.
Caleb’s heart pounded against his ribcage as cold dread rushed through his veins. He already knew the answer to his own question before Vincent had a chance to speak. The Society had found them.
“Where are Tariq and Ophelia?”
“They’re in the truck. We need to go now,” Vincent said.
Matteo pulled his ski mask back over his face and tucked his exposed hands into his sleeves. Caleb could hear the voices approaching, not quite at the bathroom yet, but close enough that he knew they were in danger.
They had attacked him and Marcus unprovoked before, but he feared what would happen when they found the pool of blood and obvious signs of a struggle. Marcus had told him what they did to people who fraternized with vampires.
What would they do to him if they caught him?
Matteo wrenched the window open the rest of the way and climbed onto the toilet lid, testing different angles he could squeeze himself through.
