Page 18 of Cold-Blooded Creatures
He always freaked out if I called him “kitten.” Hilarious, honestly. Torturing him was incredibly relaxing. Well, for me.
And that was why I couldn’t stop myself from inviting him to repeat it. “Punch me again. Maybe she has a thing for scars.”
Rogue growls rose from his heaving chest, but he didn’t move.
A different tactic then. “You may hunt her down, but I’ll be the one to teach her all about our sins.”
His strike reached my gut, right to the solar plexus, promptly accompanied by another blow to my jaw. I bent over and clutched my stomach as a coughing fit rocked my spasming diaphragm.
Fun. So much irresistible and endless fun in toying with his head.
“You good?” I straightened and licked my bloody teeth. The inside of my cheek had torn open. As much as I indulged in pushing his buttons, someone also had to help him get out of his head. Psychological games had limits and took time, but physical touch, painful or not, held a peculiar appeal to me.
He gave a curt nod. But his shoulders had loosened. Retreating, he slumped behind the desk, his head thrown back over the chair’s backrest.
“Good. Now let’s go get what’s ours,” I concluded.
Because I couldn’t wait to paint her in blood.
6
KALI
If you stood right outside the glass building and looked up, the Spire resembled a spear reaching for the gods in the sky, now hiding behind the last evening light coloring the clouds in reds and oranges.
The Spire twisted around itself and narrowed at the top, towering above the city of Ilasall. If only I could push that spear a bit farther, pierce those dammed gods, and take their place. I would tear this world apart. It wasn’t worth transforming. Easier to build a new one from scratch.
Finally, I had a job that provided me with access to the elite, the higher-ups, the Heads of various departments in our government. Soon, the Head of Ilasall, the man leading our city, was going to be in my palm. Well, only his head. I didn’t need the rest of him.
Even his name—Peter—was as dull as a rock. As colorless as the concrete buildings of Ilasall. And his voice in public speeches given at Matchings and once a year to announce population statistics… Nausea stirring.
Ignoring the stares of workers hurrying out of the entrance to the Spire, my new workplace, I moved toward my apartment a few blocks away. Today was my first day working under theabominable boss of mine, Head of Welfare. He’d given me access to the schools’ records, explained how regulating the educational programs helped steer the minds of the young into creating life with their assigned partners who wore green bands, and asked to check the records for any deviations or flagged persons—people acting out of the predetermined way. Like Alora and me. Except she had hidden me from them. Paid the price of my punishment.
At least I had full access to the records under my boss’s name, as my credentials hadn’t been prepped yet, and so I’d spent half the day scrutinizing information I wasn’t supposed to be allowed to search for.
Did he really think that me being marked with a black band meant I wouldn’t want to destroy this city? That I would live out my life serving them as a replaceable resource without dreams for more? That I wouldn’t care about how they organized Matchings where girls with green bands were showcased as cattle for their partners to choose from based on their whims, so they could take them to their houses for them to bore their children? And that the more children they birthed, the higher the status the men could climb to, a way for the city to motivate them?
Like I didn’t see Alora in each street corner I took. Like I didn’t see myself with an emerald band slinging up and down my wrist.
Once I burned this city down to ashes, I was going to build a crown out of them and forge it in the stars until it became harder than a diamond. I was going to sharpen the edges of each spike and wash them in the blood of bodies scattered in the ruins of Ilasall. And I was going to march across the land of fallen cities, wearing my scarlet crown, until I was truly free.
“It’s a pity you’re black.” A shorter-than-me man with greasy hair stuck in clumps nodded toward my wristband. “I’d pay a lot to have someone like you belong to me.” His leering gazeskimmed me up and down, evaluating, measuring my worth. “I would take good care of you.”
I grimaced from the aversion he’d provoked within me.
“Bitch,” he spat out at my reaction. “You know I can do whatever I want to you, right? No one will do anything.” He dangled his green band in front of my face.
I had to get my emotions under control. We were in the middle of a street full of traffic, both public transport and city dwellers, the latter chasing their own matters, not a care in the world about me being trapped by my opponent examining me like an object to be used.
He could drag me into an alley or throttle me in the middle of this street, right in front of the formation of six soldiers marching along the other side. They wouldn’t spare a glance at me. As long as you wore a black band on your wrist, you held no value in our city.
There was no way I could overpower him. Not physically. They didn’t teach self-defense in schools.
“There you are. I thought I’d lost you,” a tall man shouted from across the street, unfazed by the throng rushing past him. Wind ruffled his short golden-brown hair as his head swiveled left and right before he crossed the street toward us.
He looked delectable. Not handsome, but plainly appetizing. Like a piece of candy.
His sandy skin glowed in the evening’s sunlight as he prowled toward us, catching the attention of the passerby. But once they noticed the green band on his wrist, they scattered, rushing out of his way and out of the danger he posed.
