Dark Kiss

I was ready to confront Stephen.

Something wicked this way comes.

This time I was talking about myself.

“Wait here,” I told Carly. “Please.”

“You sure you don’t want me there for support?”

“I’m sure,” I said. Kissing Stephen had led to me almost getting killed. It wasn’t something I wanted Carly involved with. Her being here tonight was bad enough.

She nodded. “Good luck. Give him hell.”

I grimaced. Hell wasn’t something I even wanted to consider after meeting a demon today. Slowly, I started up the stairs.

It’ll change your life forever, so you have to want it.

I wondered if Stephen said that to all the girls. But I didn’t want a kiss tonight. All I wanted was answers.

Stephen sat in the corner of the upstairs lounge on a plush red velvet chair. He watched my cautious approach as if not at all surprised to see me again.

“Samantha Day,” he greeted me. “How are you this evening?”

My mouth felt dry. Very dry. I tried to ignore how nervous I was. “I need to talk to you.”

“But you didn’t answer my question. How are you?”

“Not good,” I admitted.

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Are you?”

“Of course I am.” He gave me a charming smile I couldn’t help but respond to. He really was cute, that much hadn’t changed since he’d potentially destroyed my life. He waved at the chair beside him. “Please, have a seat.”

I swallowed hard, wanting to resist, but deciding to do as he said. I glanced around the lounge as I took a seat on the soft chair. There were about a half dozen other kids in this area, scattered around. Some were reading books, as if this was a relaxing hangout. Some were talking to each other. I didn’t recognize any of them.

Doubt clouded my mind when I met Stephen’s eyes again. Suddenly, I felt young—really young—and uncertain.

“You walked away after you kissed me,” I said, and immediately felt silly. Like some jilted teenager who drew hearts in her binder all day long and daydreamed about boys.

What happened to my decision to be strong and demand answers?

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Really.”

His answer surprised me. “You are?”

“I needed to—” his dark brows drew together “—take care of something important. And it couldn’t wait a moment longer or it would have been too late.”

I eyed him skeptically. “What did you do to me?”

“Excuse me?”

“When you kissed me. You did something bad.”

“Is that what you think?”

“That’s what I know.”

He leaned back in his chair, studying me as if looking for clues to the same mystery I wanted solved. “It was just a kiss, nothing more. Sorry if you took it to mean more than that. I like you, Samantha, but like I said, you’re a bit too young for—”

There was no time for eloquence, so I just blurted it out. “Did you do something to my soul?”

His brows went up. “Excuse me?”

“Just answer my question.” Now I sounded impressively strong, considering I was quaking inside.

Stephen stood up and moved toward the glass barrier to look down at the rest of the club. He didn’t reply.

After a long moment, with only the boom of the music below filling my ears, I got up and approached him. “It did something, that kiss. It changed me. Didn’t it?”

“I did warn you,” he said.

I’d wanted him to look confused or annoyed by me talking to him about this. I’d wanted him to not know what the hell I was talking about. But it was all too clear that he knew exactly what I meant. This wasn’t a misunderstanding or an epic practical joke. This was real.

I had to be careful with him. My instincts told me that much.

I chanced a look around the lounge to see that our discussion hadn’t earned so much as a curious glance from the other kids. “You did something to my soul, I know that much. They called me a gray. Why would you do that to me and then just let me walk away with no warning of what might happen?”

“A gray?” He frowned. “Who have you been talking to about this?”

I pressed my lips together. I was the one asking questions here, not answering them.

Stephen went back to the chair and sat down again, grabbed a beer that sat on a black lacquered table and took a swig from it. Suddenly, I wanted to make a joke, maybe something about him having a fake ID. My usual reaction to unpleasant things was to try to be funny. It was a defense mechanism I’d developed during my parents’ very unamicable split. Or so my guidance counselor told me when I’d gotten in trouble for snarking on one of my teachers.

Laughing was way better than crying, as far as I was concerned. At the moment, however, I didn’t feel like doing either.

“Stephen,” I growled. It was pissing me off that he was so unwilling to tell me what I needed to know.

He settled back in the chair, looking like a handsome prince on a velvet throne. “I did what I was told to do, and then I had to leave. I’m not supposed to explain. She’ll tell you all about it when she’s ready.”

I stared at him blankly. “Who?”

His jaw tightened. “You’re supposed to be special. She said you were, or I would have at least warned you about the hunger …” He trailed off and then frowned at me, looking into my eyes. “But you’re able to fight it, aren’t you? Even without me telling you anything about it first. I’m thinking that’s exactly what makes you special. You don’t seem any different than you were before.”

My mind spun. I didn’t understand. “I’m hungry all the time.”

“But you’re not feeding. She didn’t think you would.”