Angry God (All Saints High 3)

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.

It was the first time I’d ever seen him out of control.

“Not in this lifetime, Spencer.” I cleared my throat, trying to pick up the slippery needle from the bathtub with shaking fingers. I snapped the thread. I was done stitching him. “I’m going to clean the wound up now. Hold still.”

“Shut me down next time.” He took the whiskey bottle and gulped the rest of its contents in one go. His lips were puffy and bruised, and I realized we’d been kissing for a few minutes. I wondered if I looked like I’d been kissed, too.

“No. You make sure there won’t be a next time,” I whispered hotly, licking my lips. “Not sure you’ve noticed, but it’s the twenty-first century. Men are responsible for their own actions. Or are you one of the so-why-did-she-wear-this chauvinist brigade?”

“Turning me off with your clothes seems like a lifelong goal of yours, so no trouble in that department.” He scoffed, taking a fractured breath as I dug the needle deep into his skin again in retaliation. I was done mending him.