Cinder X (Death Collectors, #2) Read Online Free PDF Page B

Cameron.
     
    I decide what to do next for the day because if I don’t find something to keep me distracted, the hours are going to drag. I could write maybe, but I’m worried what might come out of me; my darkest desires I don’t want to admit, how I briefly loved the taste of Cameron’s life, the darkness living inside him. Even though it was just a dream, it frightens me.
     
    Sighing, I reach for one of my textbooks on the nightstand beside my bed, choosing to catch up on schoolwork since it’s the one thing I have left in my life that’s not centered by death, angels and Reapers. But as my fingers grasp the edge of the book, I catch sight of my arm and jerk my hand back.
     
    Lines vine up and down my skin and wind around my wrist in black ink, like a tattoo. My thoughts flash back to my dream and I can taste the feeling of Cameron’s life again, burning at the tip of my tongue.
     
    “No, it was a dream,” I whisper in horror as I grip my forearm, rotating my arm around to examine it. “It didn’t really happen… it couldn’t have.”
     
    I don’t think you really believe that; do you, princess? The voice in my head appears again. This time its way clearer and louder. It’s now to the point where I recognize it perfectly.
     
    “Shit.” I frown. “This can’t be happening… it had to be a dream… there’s no way you can really be inside my head.”
     
    Nope, it’s really happening. I’m in your thoughts now, even more so than last night when I compelled you to go to that club, so I could trick you into drinking my life, he says with amusement in his tone. Besides, deep down, you wanted to give in to me. Just like when you took my life… I bet you loved it.
     
    I don’t react because it will give him a sense of satisfaction that I don’t want him to have. “It could still be a dream,” I say in denial. “Maybe that’s all it is. Maybe I’m really still asleep, maybe you and I and my room and this conversation aren’t really happening. Or maybe the Anamotti are making me think this is happening.”
     
    You know it’s real, he says. You know you went there last night just like you know the black lines on your arms are from you devouring my life, tasting it and loving it.
     
    I wince at the partial truth of his accusation. “Leave me alone, Cameron. I don’t want you here. And you can’t stay here if I don’t want you to.”
     
    Things don’t work like that anymore , he says. Especially after you took some of my life.
     
    Shit. I knew there was a stipulation; a reason why he wanted me to do that.
     
    Aggravated, I throw the blankets off my body and climb out of bed, trudging towards the dresser.
     
    Nice pajamas, he jokes.
     
     As I glance down at my black shorts and thin purple tank top, he laughs at meandI shake my head and yank a dresser drawer open.
     
    “About what you said last night; do you really know something about my father or was that just one of your games?”
     
    I can’t tell you that yet.
     
    I rummage through the drawer for a clean shirt and a pair of jeans. “Please, Cameron, this is important to me.” I hate the fact that it seems like I’m begging.
     
    There’s a long pause and I hold my breath, waiting for his answer, thinking for a moment that he might actually give one to me.
     
    But then he says, I might tell you in time, but not right now. In fact, you’re not ready right now. Plus, I have to get what I want first; you have to give in before I give up my secrets.
     
    Fury ignites inside me as I snatch up a shirt, jeans, and a pair of fingerless gloves to hide the lines on my arms before slamming the drawer shut, then I start for the closet. As I stomp towards it, I catch sight of the poem Cameron wrote on the wall weeks ago. It reminds me what his mission is in all of this.
     
    In separate fields of black feathers, the birds fly.
     
    Four wings, two hearts, but only one soul.
     
    They connect in the middle, though are separated by a