Wicked Kiss
Page 18

Even from a distance, I felt his evil like thick slime spreading over my skin. He had no remorse about the dead girl lying four feet away from him. Not even a glimmer.
It was as if he had become one of the zombie grays—but he wasn’t mindless. It shouldn’t have been possible.
Whatever he was, it was wrong. Dark. Malicious. He knew right from wrong, yet he’d chosen to destroy someone’s life anyway. He might have control, but he didn’t bother to use it.
When he stepped closer to me I took a shaky step back. Cassandra was in my sightline, but she still wasn’t moving.
“You need to join with the people who understand you,” he said. “Don’t get caught on the wrong side of this tug-of-war.”
“How many are left?” I asked, my voice choked. “How many grays?”
“Have you seen the papers? They’re calling us a kissing mob. A gang of people who randomly kiss strangers. They have no idea what we can really do. What we really are.”
I’d seen it. It was buried in the Trinity  Chronicle as an amusing fluff piece on page fifteen. Nobody realized what a threat it was. Nobody realized that the dozens of people who’d gone missing or turned up mysteriously dead in recent weeks—articles that ran much closer to the front of the newspaper—were related. It was a mystery. There were no signs of trauma found on the bodies, apart from the mysterious black lines left around their mouths. Those lines didn’t fade on a dead victim.
“Give that to me before you hurt somebody.” He looked so calm it was maddening.
When he reached for the piece of wood, I slashed it at him, cutting his arm.
He snarled at me. “Bitch!”
This time when he grabbed for my weapon I slashed the palm of his hand. Blood dripped to the ground as pain flashed across his expression.
He whacked me across the face so hard that the makeshift stake flew out of my hand, and hit the wall. White-hot pain momentarily blinded me.
I opened my mouth to scream, but he clamped his hand so tight over my mouth I thought he might break my teeth.
He began to drag me down the street. “I think you need to feed. I can set you up. Your head will get a lot clearer soon. Promise.”
“Let go of me!” My screams were muffled by his hand. I tried to bite him. I fought against him, scratching and clawing, but his bleeding arm may as well have been made of steel. This guy wasn’t human. Not in any way. And he was more than just a gray.
If he shoved me in a small room with a human, based on how I’d dealt with Colin earlier, I wasn’t sure if I was strong enough to resist. Maybe for a little while, but not forever. It would be my worst fear come to life.
Suddenly, Bishop stepped out from behind the corner up ahead. For a moment I thought it was all my imagination, that my brains had been rattled when the gray hit me. But it was true.
He was here.
And he looked mad enough to kill.
Chapter 6
My heart leaped at the sight of him.
Bishop’s gaze was narrowed and dangerously fixed on the gray. “Take your hands off her right now.”
The gray removed his hand from my mouth, instead twisting it painfully into my hair to hold me still. I shrieked. “Is this the rescue party? Go check on the blonde. She’s one of yours. This one...she’s one of mine.”
“Wrong,” I snarled.
Bishop’s eyes flashed bright blue. The dagger was already clenched in his grip. “Roth, check on Cassandra. I’ll handle this.”
Roth, who’d been standing just behind Bishop, moved toward Cassandra just as the gray shoved me away from him. I slammed hard into the wall, knocking my breath away and rattling my bones. I wheezed for a second and struggled to stay on my feet. This time, I tasted blood.
I whirled around to see Bishop charge the gray, dagger in hand. Much better than a piece of sharp wood.
“Be careful!” I yelled.
He wasn’t being very careful. He didn’t hesitate—just as he hadn’t hesitated with Cassandra.
At the last second, the gray brought his foot up to smash Bishop right in the face, knocking him backward. He landed hard on his back, but leaped back up a moment later, shaking himself off.
“Interesting,” Bishop said with a frown. He was now bleeding from a vicious cut on his forehead.
“Good word. Interesting. I’ll take it.” The gray grinned. “And I’ll take the girl when I’m finished with you and your friends. She’ll be happier with her own kind.”
“You can try to take her. You’ll fail.”
“We’ll see.”
Bishop studied him with narrowed eyes. His gaze flicked to the victim lying nearby before grimly returning to the gray. “What are you? I thought you were a gray, but you’re something else.”
“Nope. Just a run of the mill ‘gray.’” He even made sarcastic air quotes as his smile stretched. It was a term made up by Heaven and Hell, not by grays themselves. “Time changes things. By not slaughtering all of us last week, you gave us the time we needed to adapt, to evolve. We’re glad you sent Natalie’s ass back to the Hollow. She was a serious buzzkill.”
“Bishop,” Roth growled. “We need Zach. Her back’s broken.”
I stared at him with horror. I didn’t think a broken back could kill an angel—only being stabbed by the golden dagger could do that—but if she didn’t get healed quickly it could cause serious problems. She could be paralyzed.