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Authors: Jennifer Lynn Barnes
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sounded like a good bluff.
“I know exactly what you’re capable of.” The boy’s voice had no inflection. None whatsoever. “You walk through this world like no one else matters. Maybe you want to feel things, maybe you don’t, but you can’t. Not the way Normals can.”
I don’t feel things the way normal people do
. Claire took a step backward. One step away from him. One step closer to the door.
I don’t feel things the way normal people do, because I feel them more
.
“People are things to you. They’re scenery. Furniture. Disposable. You can see what they want, and you give it to them.”
All I’ve ever wanted is to be able to give someone else what they want
.
“You’re a manipulator. An egotist. A mockery of humanity that thinks she’s better than everyone else.”
This boy was insane.
It was bad enough that he’d held her at gunpoint. And kidnapped her. And apparently nursed her back to health as part of some kinky obsession he had with being the one to kill her. It was bad enough that he’d almost strangled her and was now clearly in possession of what she’d heard a man on Animal Planet once describe as “the crazy eyes.”
But this? Telling her that the world bent over backward to clear the way for her? That she didn’t care about people? That she excelled in making them care about her?
Lunacy. Sheer, utter lunacy.
The boy rushed her. She rushed away. He feinted left. She went right. He paused. She paused.
It was a strange waltz they were dancing. A strange, strange, lethal waltz.
“You’re not a very good killer,” Claire found herself saying. Why was she baiting him? She wasn’t sure. Except that maybe, she hoped that he would tell her something. Something that might help her find a way out of this alive.
“I’m
the
killer. I am death to all I seek. I am Nobody.”
Nobody
.
He said it like he meant it. Like he believed it. Like it was the reason for the shadows in his eyes and the scar across his neck.
Like this boy—this beautiful, insane, gun-toting boy—could possibly understand what it felt like to be truly invisible. To not matter. To anyone.
Ever
.
The boy in question closed his eyes again and then sank to the floor, moving forward at a crouch. She dodged, and then scuttled backward, into the kitchen.
Away from the door.
“How do you do that?” the boy hissed, following her.
Do what? Run? Considering the amount of time she’d spent staring at him instead of doing so, it was probably a fair question. Taking advantage of his distraction, she lashed out with one leg, trying to kick him off balance. He caught her foot and trapped it in a viselike hold. Then he stepped forward, working his way up the leg toward her, with detached precision.
His face an inch away from hers, he spoke. “You shouldn’t be able to see me.”
This close, there was no escape. There was no room tomaneuver. There was no hope and no chance. She didn’t lean away from him. She didn’t struggle. All she did was give in to the inevitable, with a shudder. “Of course I can see you. I’m not blind.”
Not blind. Not
blind?
How was she doing this? How was this girl, this
perfect-beautiful-cruel
girl looking at him?
Seeing him.
Acting like a person would have to be blind to stare through him.
His left hand held her leg immobile. He moved his right hand to brush the back of her neck. One motion. One movement. One jerk of his wrist, and she was dead.
“You will tell me how you’re doing this,” he ordered. “You will stop it.”
“Stop
what
? Tell you how I’m doing
what
?” The words burst out of her mouth. She seemed … agitated.
You shouldn’t be able to see me, Claire. I shouldn’t be able to agitate you
.
He did not say the words out loud. The gleaming sheen of tears in her eyes stopped him from speaking. This wasn’t possible. It just wasn’t.
Claire filled the void of his silence. “I’m not doing
anything
. I can’t do anything. Every time I try, it’s
“I know exactly what you’re capable of.” The boy’s voice had no inflection. None whatsoever. “You walk through this world like no one else matters. Maybe you want to feel things, maybe you don’t, but you can’t. Not the way Normals can.”
I don’t feel things the way normal people do
. Claire took a step backward. One step away from him. One step closer to the door.
I don’t feel things the way normal people do, because I feel them more
.
“People are things to you. They’re scenery. Furniture. Disposable. You can see what they want, and you give it to them.”
All I’ve ever wanted is to be able to give someone else what they want
.
“You’re a manipulator. An egotist. A mockery of humanity that thinks she’s better than everyone else.”
This boy was insane.
It was bad enough that he’d held her at gunpoint. And kidnapped her. And apparently nursed her back to health as part of some kinky obsession he had with being the one to kill her. It was bad enough that he’d almost strangled her and was now clearly in possession of what she’d heard a man on Animal Planet once describe as “the crazy eyes.”
But this? Telling her that the world bent over backward to clear the way for her? That she didn’t care about people? That she excelled in making them care about her?
Lunacy. Sheer, utter lunacy.
The boy rushed her. She rushed away. He feinted left. She went right. He paused. She paused.
It was a strange waltz they were dancing. A strange, strange, lethal waltz.
“You’re not a very good killer,” Claire found herself saying. Why was she baiting him? She wasn’t sure. Except that maybe, she hoped that he would tell her something. Something that might help her find a way out of this alive.
“I’m
the
killer. I am death to all I seek. I am Nobody.”
Nobody
.
He said it like he meant it. Like he believed it. Like it was the reason for the shadows in his eyes and the scar across his neck.
Like this boy—this beautiful, insane, gun-toting boy—could possibly understand what it felt like to be truly invisible. To not matter. To anyone.
Ever
.
The boy in question closed his eyes again and then sank to the floor, moving forward at a crouch. She dodged, and then scuttled backward, into the kitchen.
Away from the door.
“How do you do that?” the boy hissed, following her.
Do what? Run? Considering the amount of time she’d spent staring at him instead of doing so, it was probably a fair question. Taking advantage of his distraction, she lashed out with one leg, trying to kick him off balance. He caught her foot and trapped it in a viselike hold. Then he stepped forward, working his way up the leg toward her, with detached precision.
His face an inch away from hers, he spoke. “You shouldn’t be able to see me.”
This close, there was no escape. There was no room tomaneuver. There was no hope and no chance. She didn’t lean away from him. She didn’t struggle. All she did was give in to the inevitable, with a shudder. “Of course I can see you. I’m not blind.”
Not blind. Not
blind?
How was she doing this? How was this girl, this
perfect-beautiful-cruel
girl looking at him?
Seeing him.
Acting like a person would have to be blind to stare through him.
His left hand held her leg immobile. He moved his right hand to brush the back of her neck. One motion. One movement. One jerk of his wrist, and she was dead.
“You will tell me how you’re doing this,” he ordered. “You will stop it.”
“Stop
what
? Tell you how I’m doing
what
?” The words burst out of her mouth. She seemed … agitated.
You shouldn’t be able to see me, Claire. I shouldn’t be able to agitate you
.
He did not say the words out loud. The gleaming sheen of tears in her eyes stopped him from speaking. This wasn’t possible. It just wasn’t.
Claire filled the void of his silence. “I’m not doing
anything
. I can’t do anything. Every time I try, it’s
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