A glance behind me shows everyone settled when I undo the chain across the door. A sliver of light spills in before I hastily shut it behind me and the lock clicks tight.
My stomach grumbles out a demand but the first few rows of the vending machine offer nothing I want. It’s all heavily processed garbage with fake food coloring. The cheese curls might be decent but?—
“I had a feeling this is where you’d go.”
Grayson’s voice snaps my spine into place. I turn as he cuts through a wall of sunlight, his smile deceptively loose. His arms flex at his sides, the muscles pulling his shirt tight.
Oh boy.
My hunger is a river, splitting into two directions, one for food, and one for Grayson.
Those lines of scratches where he’d marked himself still stand out. They haven’t healed yet. Color returned to his cheeks and where I expected anger at my betrayal, I see only composure.
“You knew I’d go for a vending machine?”
“I haven’t seen you eat this whole time we’ve been together, not really. I mean, the cabin doesn’t count. You chugged coffee like a champ but hell, those were extenuating circumstances. Forced proximity.”
He says it like a promise and I shiver, crossing mental fingers he doesn’t notice.
“I figured you’d have to eat eventually because sleep is out of the question.”
I blow out a breath. “Vampires.”
“Their schedule seriously sucks.”
“Hey, we’ll get to the shaman in time. I promise.”
“Empty promises mean nothing, Mandi,” Grayson says.
His fingers tap against the glass, his shoulder resting in a practiced lean I’m sure sent the girls in his school wild with longing.
“Then the least we can do is stuff our worries with cheese curls. Right?” I point to the last bag in the line of clearly popular junk food.
“Here I was thinking about a sweet treat.”
It’s entirely in my head how he says it likeI’mthe sweet treat. I’m imagining things because I want to hear them, not because he actually means it.
I break eye contact and stare at the machine. “Think I can hit it hard enough to knock everything loose?”
“Yes, I know you can. But why?”
“Just wondering.”
Borrowed money burns a hole in the pocket of my borrowed pants.
The pack, my father, always provided for me. It was another means of control to keep our young safe.
My silence must speak for me and Grayson steps up, his arm brushing against mine and his scent everywhere, warm as the first pulse of summer. His nearness heightens my awareness,which he either doesn’t sense or chooses to ignore when he digs in his pocket.
“It’s weird howthismanaged to survive our many costume changes and rampages through the woods.” He draws out a rectangle of smooth leather worn from years of service. Inside, several crisp ones folded over.
“You kept your wallet with you?” I blink.
“Miracle of miracles, right?” Grayson slides the money into the slot and presses the right buttons.
The cheese curls pop out.
“Here you go, Mandi.”