Page 41 of Such a Feral Little Lamb
He takes me back into the church, ignoring Rae’s sounds of concern. I wave at her. I’m fine, really, just angry that he hit me first. Not that I wanted to hit him.
Not much, at least.
Mason leads me silently to his room, then ushers me inside and shuts the door. It cuts off what little noise exists under the church, and for a second, my ears ring with it.
“What did he say to you?” Mason asks.
I jerk my head up. I’ve been staring at the floor. My cheek throbs.
“Nothing I haven’t heard before.”
“Isaac.”
“Look, I’m fine, I should—”
“Come here.”
He takes my free hand. His fingers are cool, but I don’t know if that’s because I’m running too hot, blood boiling at the thought of Blake’s misplaced rage. When he leads me into the small room that serves as a bathroom, I let out a sigh.
“Mason…”
“Here.”
He stands behind me, positioning me in front of the mirror. When his fingers trip down my right arm, sliding over the hand holding my bat, I loosen my grip.
He takes the weapon gently and sets it on the table. The bowl of water is before us, like last time. It’s steaming.
Mason curls his body towards me, and in the mirror, I see it. I see how close his lips are to my ear.
“Did you speak to Otto about what happened?”
“No.” I huff. “I didn’t get the chance.”
“He won’t tell you.”
“Why not?”
His answer surprises me. “He thinks you won’t believe him.”
I blink at our reflections. “I’d believe him. I saw him get bitten. I saw—”
“What did you see?”
“There’s no wound. Even with a cure, there should be a wound.”
Mason hums. He rests his chin on my shoulder, then rolls his head so instead of looking at our reflections, he’s gazing up at my face. His other hand comes up and he presses his fingertips gently against the spot where Blake hit me.
It pulses under his fingers, and I gasp at the pain.
“Watch,” Mason breathes.
I don’t tear my eyes away from the mirror. Mason keeps his eyes on me. We stay like that as he presses his fingers to the forming bruise, as warmth spreads through my face and the pain begins to ebb.
“What—”
Mason shushes me gently. His left hand rests on my hip. I swallow hard and see the way his eyes fall to the movement of my throat. His touch never changes, but I have the sudden feeling I’m in the arms of a predator.
The feeling slides away. Mason lifts his fingers from my cheek, and I stare at my reflection, eyes wide. The pain is gone. The mark that was beginning to form is gone. I raise a trembling hand to my cheek.
