The faint dark veins that had begun to creep along his neck fizzled and vanished. The wild edge in his eyes banked. His breath steadied.
He released me as if my skin had scorched him.
“What was that?” he demanded.
I rubbed the place where his fingers had been. The skin was unmarked but tingling.
“I should ask you the same,” I said. “You grabbed me.”
“You… did something,” he insisted. “The darkness—” He broke off, jaw clenching.
The fact that he had to call it *darkness* instead of just *me losing my temper* said more than he realized.
“I did nothing,” I lied. “Maybe your conscience finally twitched.”
“You’re not funny,” he growled.
“I’m not trying to be,” I said. “I’m trying not to die.”
We stared at each other.
He was still breathing heavily, but not like before. Like a man who
