“Most of your CDs are The Smiths’.” He snatched the bottle of whiskey from the edge of the bathtub and took a swig.

It was the first time I’d seen Vaughn drink—not just alcohol, but at all. Which was bizarre.

I didn’t answer, sliding the needle to the base of his wound. He hissed, but stared directly at what I was doing, our heads touching as we focused on my hand movement. When the needle pierced his skin that first time, coming out of the other side, I let out a ragged exhale of relief. I hadn’t breathed for a few seconds.

Mortal, after all. Flesh and blood and insecurities and secrets.

I moved the needle again, whip-stitching the wound in careful strokes, convincing myself the blood wasn’t real, and the entire moment was a nightmare I was going to wake up from. It helped me keep my cool.

How Vaughn put me in these situations, I had no idea. But I had noticed the pattern. It was always him who came to me. He dropped trouble at my doorstep like dead mice, untamed cat that he was. And, silly girl that I was, I always opened the door and let him in.

Vaughn took another mouthful of whiskey.

“What do you do all day? You don’t have any friends.” He eyed me, his voice more bored than venomous.

Homework. Art.

“You don’t fuck anyone, either. Don’t try to lie to me. I have eyes and ears everywhere. You just drive around by yourself like a failed Uber driver.”

And there it was. The malice.

He groaned when I dug the needle in without my usual gentleness. I didn’t appreciate his line of questions. When he realized I’d hurt him on purpose, he smirked.

“Hold on to that virginity, baby girl. Prince Charming is just a fantasy book and a vibrator away.”

“Fuck you, Vaughn,” I snarled.

“I’m starting to consider it. You’ll be my pro bono case. Not full-on fucking, but feeling your lip ring on my cock no longer makes me want to vomit.”

“Well, it makes me want to vomit, so that’s still firmly off the table.”

I dug the needle harder again, and he laughed, drinking some more and placing the bottle back on the granite surface. It slid and almost slipped from his hand. He caught it at the last minute.

“Wanna know something?” He glanced into the bottom of the whiskey bottle.

No.

“You’re pretty.”

I stilled, the needle hovering in the air over his skin. I wished he hadn’t said that. Because if he hadn’t, I wouldn’t have to live with the shame of my heart nearly bursting with sweet, smoky ache. My breath hitched, and I had to swallow and refocus my gaze on his wound.

He’s drunk, and in a tremendous amount of pain. He doesn’t mean it.

“It’s a slow-burn kind of beauty. The more I look at you, the more it sneaks up on me. You remind me of Robin Wright in The Princess Bride—the kind of pure, wide-eyed innocence no amount of black shit and piercings can tarnish. But that’s not why I don’t hate you.” He shook his head, his eyes trained on the side of my face as I stitched him. “Everyone in this town is fucking pathetic—slaves to materialistic bullshit and ticking the predictable boxes of school, college, football, cheerleading, jogging, fucking, falling in love, getting a job, blah blah blah. Money is cheap, dirty, and boring. Everything is a popularity contest, and you’re out of the rat race. I guess…” He threw his head back with a sigh, staring at my ceiling. “You’re real. Maybe that’s why, sometimes, even when you’re not around, it feels like you are.”

I feel that way, too.

Vaughn was always here, even when he wasn’t. I could feel him from miles away. I recognized his scent, his touch, the air he brought into the room when he entered. I could spot his dark soul in a carnival teeming with colors and smells. For better or worse, he was the most unique guy I’d ever come across.

I continued stitching him up silently, his gaze caressing my cheek.

“Hunter said he was gonna make a pass at you.”

I licked my lips, tugging at the thread before sliding the needle into his skin again.

“I put him in his place,” he finished.

I poked his skin with my finger lightly, pinching it back together. This was where I was supposed to tell him he was delusional—I was not his—but I decided to listen to the entire story before I bit his head off.

“We were at his house. He was drunk. He thought I was kidding when I said I’d fuck him up if he tried to mess with you. I beat him up so bad, he came after me with a steak knife. He was supposed to miss. But that’s the thing about shitty aims—when they want to miss, they don’t.” He laughed without a care in the world. Like he hadn’t just lost a gallon of blood.

I paused, moving my gaze from his wound to his face.

He got stabbed because of me?

“Is this a joke?” I frowned.

“Do I look like the joking type?” He cocked his head sideways, looking at me like I was an idiot. “You made this mess. Only fair that you clean it up.”

My eyes widened, a fresh dose of rage coursing through my bloodstream.

“We are not together,” I said, dumbfounded. “Never will be. You’re an asshole.”

“If you think that has anything to do with my controlling your every move, you obviously haven’t been paying attention.”

I thought about the public blow jobs I’d heard about until not too long ago, the internship he’d snatched from me, what I’d seen in the darkroom all those years ago.

His threats.

His cruelness.

His taunts.

I stabbed him with the needle, shoving it deep into his healthy skin, twisting it to make my point. He groaned, pinching his eyebrows together, but he didn’t retreat.

“Push me, Vaughn, and I’ll push harder. I’m not the same girl you threatened in Carlisle Castle. This time, I will hurt you back.”

He snatched my jaw, jerking my face close to his. The needle slipped from my fingers, clinking in the bathtub beneath him. Our breaths mingled, hot and heavy and full of thick lust—the metallic scent of his blood and sweetness of my breath, sugared from a watermelon slushie I’d inhaled before coming home.

“Don’t pretend my blood doesn’t turn you on. You sucked good and hard on it, and my cock will be next.”

“In your drea—”

It all happened so fast, the way our lips crashed together like fire and ice. Euphoric pleasure exploded between my legs, heat spreading in my lower belly like lava as his lips opened on mine and his tongue slid into my mouth. I grumbled when our tongues touched, because I didn’t expect him to be so soft, so delicious.

My knees sank to the floor. Vaughn took my face in his hands and kissed me more roughly, biting the corner of my lips, pushing his nose against mine, devouring me with the same desperation I felt for him. I imagined it looked like he was trying to eat my whole face, and though it probably looked awkward, it felt perfect.

I was the willing, stupid prey.

I whimpered when he broke the kiss all of a sudden. He lurched back, like I’d bitten him. The look on his face was priceless—as if he’d just woken up and discovered me in bed with him. Like I was the one who kissed him, who invaded his universe repeatedly.

“Fuck.” His chest rose and fell with heavy pants, his eyes dropping to my mouth again.