Page 38 of White Hot Kiss
“That’s not the point,” snapped Abbot. “You know better, Layla. You risked serious consequences by not telling us, not to mention risking your own safety.”
His disappointment rang through loud and clear. I shifted uneasily in my seat, feeling about a foot tall.
“We should check out the school tonight,” said Zayne. “Have the commissioner contact the superintendent—say it’s something routine so there’s no suspicion.”
“Good call.” He gave his son a proud smile.
I bristled. “So I’m not allowed to tag anymore?”
“That’s something I need to think about,” replied Abbot.
That didn’t sound good to me. I hated the idea of not being able to tag. It was the one thing that redeemed the demonic blood in me, or at least made me feel better. Taking that away was like a smack in the face. It also got me out of the house, and with Petr here that was even more important. I apologized once again and left the study. I felt as if I was on the verge of crying and screaming—or punching someone.
Zayne followed me into the hallway. “Hey.”
I stopped near the stairs, a rush of anger hitting me hard in the gut. I waited until he stood beside me. “You just had to tell him about the Seeker in the alley. Thanks.”
He frowned. “He needed to know, Layla. You weren’t being safe and you could’ve been hurt.”
“Then why didn’t you say something to me instead of running to your daddy?”
His jaw immediately clenched. “I didn’t run to my daddy.”
I folded my arms. “That’s not how it looks.”
Zayne gave me a sigh I was familiar with. It said you’re being childish and getting on my last nerve.
I ignored it. “Why would you even suggest that I stop tagging? You know how important it is to me.”
“Your safety is more important. You know I’ve never really agreed with them allowing you to run around D.C. by yourself, pursuing demons. It’s dangerous.”
“I’ve been tagging since I was thirteen, Zayne. I’ve never had any problem—”
“Until a few nights ago,” he interrupted, cheeks flushing with anger. It was so rare that Zayne ever lost his cool with me, but when he did, it was epic. “And it’s more than that. You’re young and pretty. Who knows what kind of attention you’re attracting out there.”
Any other time I would have been thrilled to hear him say I was pretty, but right now, I wanted to take that word and shove it in his face. “I can take care of myself.”
He looked at me dead-on. “What I’ve shown you will only get you so far.”
Irritation and the need to prove I wasn’t some helpless dweeb provoked what I said next. “And I know how to finish someone off.”
Zayne got what I was saying. A look of utter disbelief flickered across his face. “That’s the way you’d protect yourself? By taking someone’s soul? Nice.”
Immediately, I realized my mistake. I came down a step. “I didn’t really mean it, Zayne. You know that.”
He didn’t look too sure. “Whatever. I have things I need to do.”
“Like Danika?” I said before I could stop myself.
His eyes fell shut, and when they reopened, they were a sheltered, icy blue. “Real mature. Good night, Layla.”
The hot rush of tears clouded my vision as I watched him leave. I was making a mess of everything without even trying. That took talent. I turned around and saw Petr standing just inside the sitting room. The smirk on his face told me that he’d heard our whole exchange—and enjoyed it.
I woke up, heart pounding and throat burning. The sheets twisted around my legs, chafing my skin. Rolling over, I stared at the neon-green light of the alarm clock.
2:52 a.m.
I needed something sweet.