Page 71 of The Cannibal

Phoebe covered her hand and rubbed it. “Kitchen accident.”

She was never a good liar.

“If you say so.” I shrugged, discarding the used needle in a separate wastebin. The lab was well designed, making use of the space but also thinking about waste. When I saw the different marked waste containers, I knew Luka had to have helped Silas with the finer details.

Speaking of . . .

“Where’s Luka?” I gathered the next set of tools and prepared to empty the apparatus into vials. “I thought he was coming with you.”

“Busy, I suppose,” she sighed. “I can see if anyone in the parlor is willing.”

“No, I only need a few,” I said. “I’ll start with more preparation.”

“I’ll get them anyway,” she said. “I’ll bring more cloths on the way back.”

“Thank you,” I mumbled, stacking my tubes in the holders and preparing the microscope.

I tied a smock around my waist and at the neck to protect my clothes. The faster I found a solution to my disorder, the sooner everyone could stop treating me like I was fragile. They weren’t wrong to do so. In fact, I acknowledge that I should be resting. Any overexertion will throw me into a hungry state with no way to battle the craving. At the same time, if anyone is going to figure it out, it was me.

Phoebe left the laboratory door open.

Wide enough to lure prying eyes.

Vipera senses were hard to get used to. One moment you are smelling coffee down the hall, the next you can smell that there is some overcurious critter waiting just outside. I could hear not just blood and heartbeats, but even lungs expanding and contracting. I couldn’t decipher who it was, but I truly did not need to guess.

“Silas,” I said out loud without taking my eyes off the tubes. I heated the wax pencil over a lit candle, allowing my writing to glide over the glass.

He turned the corner, his shoulder leaning against the door.

There was no beating the feeling he was still angry with me. There was a scent to it, I realized. It smelled the same as intense activity. Happiness smelled sickly sweet. Arousal had a dirty spice that mixed both the former and latter.

I took an empty tube, meeting his eyes as he stared. They were lowered, just a sliver of those silver-blue irises following me.

We kept contact as I hovered the wax pencil above the flame again, turning it slowly before putting it back to work on the glass.

Creature #1, I wrote, then held it up. I twisted the vial so he could see. All I had to do was cock my head. An invitation.

Languidly, he pushed himself off the door with his shoulder and circled to the back of the room. He took mental inventory of the instruments I’d pulled out, even the glassware.

I stood at the very end of the table at the back of the room, watching him take his time.

Soon he stood behind me, but I paid him no mind as I prepped.

My first thought was he was continuing to look at the cabinetry. But this was a familiar game. To pretend not to care, to act like I was the least interesting thing in the room despite the stolen glances and the breath on the back of my neck.

His palms pressed into the back of my thighs, dragging upward and lifting my skirt with them.

I ignored him.

He paused when I didn’t react, then pitched his shoe between my ankles, kicking my feet apart.

My breath hitched when I stumbled, my hips pressed firmly against the edge of the counter.

I rose onto the tips of my toes, back arched against his chest.

The air tickled my bare skin. He pulled the layers up enough to expose the combinations. His hand was cold brushing up against the skin, but the heat of his body pressing against mine made up for it.

His breath fanned across the back of my neck, lips brushing against my nape.