“A regular blade will work, right?” one asks. “It doesn’t actually need to be silver.”
“So I hear. Anything that can hurt us can hurt them.”
The second voice comes from the other end of my bed. I feel a tug, as if he’s lifting the sheet from that end. Cool night air slides over my foot and calf. I force myself to stay perfectly still even as my heart pounds.
“You know what you’re doing, right?” the first one says.
“My dad’s a doctor. I’ve had to work for him since I was twelve. Padding my pre-med application. One nick to the Achilles tendon should do it.”
Did he say cutting my Achilles tendon?
This is a nightmare. It must be. I have actually drifted off, and everything from today is whipping through my mind, spinning crazy scenarios where the other campers find out what I am and decide to maim me while I sleep.
The blade nears my skin. It doesn’t touch, but I feel the chill of it. Every cell screams for me to leap up. What the hell am I doing? Even if it is a nightmare, do something.
What if it’s real?
All the more reason to get off your ass, Lo, and kick theirs.
No, because if this is not a nightmare, then I need to be sure they’re going through with it. I need to feel that blade, let it cut my skin, proof of what they
attempted.
Are you crazy?
No, I know how guys like this act. If I leap up, they’ll say it was a joke. They’ll make me feel paranoid, the new kid who’s overreacting and trying to cause trouble.
I know this because I’ve seen it. Some of my so-called friends have done it to other classmates, and I didn’t participate, but nor did I say anything, and that makes me just as guilty, doesn’t it?
Kate would have said something. She always says something.
And you know what, Lo, that’s an awesome moment of self-revelation, but now is not the time for epiphanies. Get off your ass!
The blade presses against my skin. My attackers have gone silent, but I swear I smell them salivating. There’s something unnatural here, something dark, a tension and a predatory anticipation.
I remember what Elijah said.
Then there’s the actual aggression—the shouting matches and fistfights. People snapping over anything. It’s as if everyone’s looking for an excuse to fuck or fight, you know? I can feel the tension. My hackles go up and stay up for no reason I can tell.
My hackles are up. They’re up as high as they go. The blade presses and—
There’s an oomph, the blade skating across my skin. “What the fuck?” Mason roars. “A knife?”
I scramble up. He’s got the guy in a headlock and has given him a bloody lip. It’s Hayden, the blond prep-school guy Kate told off earlier. I register that as his two buddies rush Mason. I leap in front of him, facing them.
“You don’t want to do that,” I say.
Mason lets out a hiss of pain behind me, and I look over to see a gash in his side. Hayden’s still holding the knife, blood painting the blade. He goes to slash again, and I kick, hitting his right arm. The knife clatters to the floor. I
scoop it up and hand it to Mason.
“First step,” I say to Mason. “Disarm your attacker.”
As I release the knife, it flies out of my hand before Mason can take it. I grab it again and turn to the other two.
“Telekinetic half-demon, I presume?” I say.
They both charge at me. One grabs me, his fingers cold as ice. Mason yanks him off me. I drop the knife and stomp on it as the telekinetic demon tries to pull it to him. I knock him flying with a right hook, the dull thump of my fist hitting flesh seconded by the crack of a rib. Hayden casts a knock- back spell. I dodge and grab both his arms, effectively killing his ability to cast.
When Hayden spits curses at me, I say, “Next time, learn witch magic.
Otherwise, it’s far too easy to shut you down.”
More curses. Sadly for him, they aren’t actual curses.
The telekinetic demon stays on the floor, doubled over, gasping for breath.
“You’re winded,” I say. “Give it a minute. If you still have trouble breathing, that rib may have pierced a lung.”
“What the—what the fuck?” the half-demon says, voice rising.
“You attacked a werewolf,” Mason says behind me. “Did you expect him to rap your knuckles and call you a naughty boy? Stop whining and be thankful you can still breathe.”
Under my foot, the knife wiggles, but the guy can’t summon the power to wrest the knife out.
Mason has his target—the ice demon—against the wall, wrists pinned. One of Mason’s forearms presses against the half-demon’s windpipe. “How about you? Can you still breathe?”
The guy gasps. “Good enough.”
Blood streams from Mason’s side, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. He
holds his target easily. While vampires don’t get extra strength, Mason’s big, and he’s muscular, and he had the sense to avoid those ice-wielding fingers.
“This doesn’t concern you,” Hayden says to Mason.
Mason sneers. “Seriously? That’s the best you can do? Next you’ll be calling me a meddling kid. Vowing revenge on me and my dog.” He jerks his chin at me.
Hayden sniggers. “Is that why you’re defending him? He’s your pet dog? Do you hump him? Or does he hump you? One of the counselors saw your intake form. He said that’s why you went off on Mackenzie when she hit on you. You don’t like girls, do you?”
“Fuck you.” Mason makes a face. “No, on second thought, I’d really rather not. But if guys like me make you nervous, you might want to watch your buddy here.” He jerks a thumb at one of the half-demons. “He was definitely checking me out.”
Hayden throws off a few homophobic slurs, followed up with threats. “Yeah, yeah,” Mason says. “You gonna come after me with a knife next?
Might wanna rethink that. I can’t change into a wolf but . . .”
Mason throws the ice demon aside. Then he runs a finger through the blood dripping from Hayden’s busted lip. He licks it off and then bares his teeth. He doesn’t have fangs, but the meaning is clear, and Hayden’s eyes go wide.
“What the fuck? Vampires and werewolves?”
“Yeah, it’s such bullshit, being forced to associate with the sub-races.” Mason looks at me. “Right, Logan? All these half-demons and sorcerers and necromancers. Call themselves supernaturals, but they piss their pants when we come around. Like rabbits freaking out over wolves crashing their party. Guess what?” He grins again, that flash of teeth. “The predators are in the building.”
He gives Hayden a hard shove. “Now go run back to your rabbit hole.” “This—this is—”
“Unacceptable? And you’re going to tell your daddy, some middle-aged nobody with a fancy job title? Skip the tattling, little boy. Send Daddy straight to me. I’ll show him how important he is. Doesn’t matter who you are. Blood tastes like blood.”
I should mediate here. Sand the edges off Mason’s threats. Tell the guys we won’t bother them if they don’t bother us. But blood pounds in my ears, the thrill of an easy takedown fading under the outrage at what they’d tried to do, and I’m afraid if I open my mouth, what comes out will be the opposite of mediation. So I settle for shoving the ice demon toward his friend with “Help your buddy up and then go.”
The ice demon turns and glares at me, and then helps his telekinetic friend stand as Hayden stalks out.
“Can you believe those fucking guys?” Mason slaps the door shut behind them and flicks on the light. Then he wheels on me. “And you. What the hell were you doing?”
“Let’s see. First, I retrieved this.” I pick up the knife and hand it to him. “Potentially saving your life again because you forgot the first rule of fighting an armed opponent. Then I disabled the other guys. I believe I did my share.”
“I mean before that. They were going to cut your goddamn tendon. Do you know what that means?”
“I’d be unable to walk and would require prompt surgery to repair it or risk a lifelong serious disability. Even after surgery, I might have difficulties. Also, there’s the risk of cutting more than they intended, after which I could bleed out.”
He shakes his head. “So you know exactly what it means. And yet you were lying there, listening to them plotting to maim you, letting them put the damned knife to your leg.”
“I was waiting for the first cut. I wanted proof of what they intended.
Otherwise, they could have claimed they were joking.”
Mason shakes his head and thumps onto his bed.
I look at the closed door. We’ve made enough noise to bring someone running, but no one has. People heard the fight. They must have. And they’re ignoring it.
“I need to warn my sister,” I say.
I’m heading for the door when I see the blood on Mason’s bare torso. “First, though, let me look at that.”
Mason waves me off. “It’s fine. I thought he got me good, but I barely feel it.”
“Still, it’s a long gash. It’ll probably need stitches.” I manage a wry smile. “At least that’s one thing you won’t have to worry about when you go full vamp. You’ll get insta-healing. Have you ever seen that?”
He shakes his head as he grabs a discarded T-shirt from the floor.
“Wait!” I stop him as he’s about to wipe off the cut. “Blood doesn’t come out easily. Trust me. I know.”
“That’s okay. It’s not my shirt.”
I say nothing. He mops the blood and then stops, looking down at the red- smeared shirt. “Fuck.”
“Yep, that is your shirt. Mine wouldn’t be on the floor.” I point to where my clothing is neatly folded on the dresser.
I expect another curse. He’s just staring down, not at the shirt, but at his wounded side. The shadow from his arm hides the injury.
“Is it worse than you thought?” I ask. “We should notify the counselors anyway. At the very least, it’ll need cleaning. My sister has a first-aid kit— she’s the future doctor—but the counselors should . . .”
I trail off as he pulls back his hand. Underneath the faint wash of wiped blood, I can see his skin where it’d been sliced open.
The gash is gone.