Scandal

Chapter 8

At seven sharp, I knock on the door to Kai's room with four forceful knocks, then adjust my bag strap on my shoulder, and wait.

No answer. Sighing, I knock four more times, this time with just a little more volume to annoy the witch out of whatever stupor he's fallen into.

When the door eventually opens, Kai blinks at me through his bleary blue eyes that have barely adjusted to the waking world. His gray sweats fit loosely around his waist making that low rise affect his raven hair currently tousled with sleep could be an extra, blaring hint that he had mon set an alarm, or had any concept of time being of the essence, when it was meaningless for eighteen years.

"Great." His voice is several octaves lower, carrying a rasp from disuse all night. "My dream was just getting to the good part."

Then, he scans me thoughtfully. "Wait, am I still dreaming? Quick, say something."

"When you find the rest of your brain cells, can we get the hell out of Illinois?"

He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Yup. Real Amaya."

"Real me?" I repeat, outraged. "Were you dreaming about me?"

Kai raises an eyebrow. "Okay, kinda not loving the whole accusatory tone. Aren't you a college student? I thought the concept of dreams being involuntary would've struck you at some point, but maybe the American school system's gotten more hopeless than I thought. And also, my dream was tame. Like I said we were getting to the good part and then you almost broke down my hotel room door, so..." He trails off, looking dazed. "Are you sure I'm awake?"

I swing my backpack off my shoulder and hurl it at his chest. He stumbles back a step, snickering, because everything was amusing to this bastard, even being a punching bag.

"Okay, Jesus," he says, while narrowly dodging my next hefty swing. "Totally not a dream. Even I'm not this kinky."

I raise the bag again in warning. "You have five minutes to meet me in the car."

"How about, I go back to bed for a couple hours and we regroup later over omelettes and hot coffee?"

"Five minutes. I'm driving, you can sleep while we move. We still have over a day left until we get to Portland."

Kai rolls his eyes. "Hey, don't act like I didn't offer a very timely alternative. We can still head to the airport if you're so worried about being on schedule. What's so dire about your schedule, by the way? Exams? Research paper deadlines? Oh, wait, duh. I'm talking to a human who's probably got friendship bracelets with vampires. Are you the designated blood bag to keep them off the murder streak?"

Having already slipped my bag back over my shoulder, I impulsively decide my hand's just as good of a weapon to shut up sociopaths who repeatedly overstep. But before my hand can make contact with his cheek, he catches my wrist in a lightning quick motion.

Kai uses the leverage to yank me closer, right over the threshold, and doesn't bother to lower his face so we're eye-level. He only flicks his eyes downward, like I'm a subtle nuisance that he has yet to figure out how to squash. My jaw sets defiantly and I tug hard in a failing attempt to free my arm.

"I've got a threshold for pain that you couldn't imagine," he says steadily. "You won't hit me into submission, Amaya." His eyes grow heavy-lidded, lowering tellingly. "But I do dig the anger. Hold onto that, when we get out of here. Might give you a fighting chance next time you try to play hero for your friends."

"Or I'll finally decide to murder you."

"Oh, I want you to try." There's gravel in his voice, induced by sleep and something much more dangerous, and a slow smirk curves his lips. "I really do. But look, all this animosity first thing in the morning's a lot for a guy." He loosens his fingers on my wrist and I snatch it back protectively.