His tongue trails from the side of my chin to the corner of my mouth. I'm frozen on spot, barely breathing. When he pulls away, his eyes are the same shimmering silver I had seen the other night. My breathing spikes, and his eyes dart to my mouth. B...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
— 21 —
The inside of Chase's apartment is almost exactly how I pictured it: a library. The difference is that I thought it'd be a giant room strictly dedicated to books, not an entire house. Huge piles of them are stacked on each other, some looking as old as the house itself—chipped covers, bindings falling apart, seams taped back together several times over. Stained walls are lined with shelves, each one filled with different books; the counters have them stacked in high piles, some piles reaching the ceiling; hell, even the worn carpet has them littered everywhere. There's barely any room to sit on the couch—most of the cushions are covered with medical texts—but there's a space cleared on the windowsill, just big enough for Chase to spread out and read...
"I don't know if anyone's told you this or not, but you should find a hobby," I mutter.
He smirks. "Technically, reading is a hobby," he points out.
"Are you telling me that the only thing you do is read and teach?" I demand, looking at him incredulously.
He raises an eyebrow. "No, I believe you and Darestin have already discussed my favorite pastime."
I blink. His favorite pastime has always been putting them through trials...
"So when you're not reading, you're... testing people?" I demand. "Testing me?"
"Don't make that face," he says, smirking as he leans against the wall. "Technically speaking, I didn't come to Silverstein just to play with humans. I came here to stop the murders."
"The murders?" I repeat, confused again. "What does some random murderer have to do with anything?"
"In due time," he says, straightening up. I tense as he heads over to me, mind flashing to the almost-but-not-quite kiss. When all he does is brush past me to pick up a few stray books—anatomy from the looks of it—on the windowsill, though, I have to hide the short pang of disappointment. "Sit. This is going to take some time."
I grumble under my breath, berating myself, but do as he says, plopping on the ledge of the window with a huff. "Alright, I'm ready."
He doesn't look so sure, though. "Before I tell you anything, you have to understand, Vixen: I'm not human—" when I roll my eyes, a corner of his mouth quirks up "—Yes, that may be obvious at this point, but it's still important. I'm not human. Therefore, what humans consider right or wrong is not the same for me. That will be hard for you to grasp, but you have to remember it: even if it seems as if I'm some sort of hero, the truth is that I'm not, because what you consider noble and what I consider noble don't always line up."
I tilt my head, already confused. "I don't understand," I confess.
He nods, like he was expecting as much. "Things aren't black and white for my kind," he clarifies. "In fact, it'd be more accurate to say that there's no such thing as black and white; everything's grey. We do what we have to, and that's that. Only humans have some notion of 'good' and 'bad.' For every other being, there's only 'is.'"
