Fangs and Fennel (The Venom Trilogy #2)(16)
His cool demeanor should have made me happy. Seeing as I needed space between us. I did. Really. So why was this hurting me so much?
Remo passed me a handful of change, his hand never touching mine. He turned away, leaving me standing there with my mouth hanging open. It was the first time I’d seen some emotion from him other than his cocky smile or smoldering anger.
“Thanks for seeing me home.” I couldn’t help the parting shot. Mostly because my feelings were hurt. Maybe Santos was right; maybe I was just a tool to Remo, or worse, a weapon to be pulled out when he needed help and kept happy with a few kisses. And when that tool asked questions he didn’t like, he was able to walk away.
Maybe worse yet . . . was he using his charm on me, making me believe he cared when he didn’t? Could he be using my unruly hormones against me to make me blind to his actual objective of taking down Santos at any cost?
He could do it if he felt nothing for me.
And that stung more than I could have possibly imagined.
CHAPTER 4
The bus ride home was tedious, and my mind wouldn’t stop obsessing over the possibilities that lay between Remo and me. I couldn’t escape them, and each time I tried, the varied scenarios came flooding back. I finally resorted to reciting recipes under my breath, running through ingredients and instructions for everything from white chocolate–macadamia nut cookies to pasticiotti over and over again.
By the time I reached the Wall, I was beyond hungry, tired, emotionally drained, and footsore. The bus had taken me within two miles of the main entrance to the Wall, but I’d had to walk the rest of the way in bare feet.
I reached the forty-foot-tall Wall and paused, staring at the wide-open gates. A few Super Dupers came and went, but that wasn’t what caught my attention. The human protestors sitting to the side of the structure around a tiny burning fire, however, did catch my attention. As I approached, they all jumped up and waved signs at me, as if I wouldn’t see them otherwise.
“You don’t have to go back in there. Equality for all!” A young woman with dark curls and an earnest, pretty face held her hand out to me, and I stared at it like it was a bomb. She didn’t draw back. “Please, take my hand. We are all one in this world.” A lilting Irish accent wrapped her words up in a nice little bundle.
“Supernaturals are sensitive too! They have feelings!” another protestor yelled.
I paused. “Are you actually advocating for Super Duper rights?” They all blinked at me like I’d spoken Chinese, and I cleared my throat. “I mean, supernatural?”
“Yes, here, read this.” She thrust a paper into my hand. “You don’t have to live behind that Wall; we can all live together in harmony!”
I stared at the paper. It listed all the rights that Super Dupers currently lived without.
Lack of equality. No voice in the government. Inability to own property on the south side of the Wall. Inhumane treatment by the law in general. They were right, but they were also so very wrong.
My lips twitched and I couldn’t help it; I burst out laughing. “Listen, I know you believe it, but not all supernaturals are nice. Some of them are downright nasty and will attack you without thought. They will kill you as soon as they look at you.”
“You didn’t,” she pointed out.
I sighed. I didn’t know how to explain to her how I felt. I wanted equality; I would get my inheritance and bakery back. But the reality was, not all Super Dupers should be integrated into society. I thought about the deviousness of Merlin. The blood-lusting vampires who Remo kept a tight rein on. Even Oberfluffel’s werewolf task force. They were all deadly in their own ways and could make mincemeat pies of any human who irritated them. If I was honest, even I could be that deadly. At the stadium, it had been pure luck that I’d not mowed down a fair number of humans in my effort to get to Achilles before he killed Tad.
But whose decision was it to make?
Not mine.
And not the protestors’ either. There had to be a better system. I thought about Damara, the satyr and sometimes healer. She’d thought Zeus was the answer, that he could manage the population of supernaturals and help them integrate into the human world. Maybe he could have, if he’d cared about anyone but himself.
“Super Dupers—I mean, supernaturals—are not safe. You have to believe me that you are in danger here,” I said, frustration filling my words. How could I make them see, make them understand?
Almost as if on cue, a twisted werewolf came roaring, literally roaring, out of the Wall’s gate, partially shifted. He spied the group of protestors who cheered for him as he escaped the Wall.
Their cheers turned to screams as he rushed them, teeth snapping and spit flying. I could have almost sworn he laughed as he chased them around. Like a rat in the kitchen scaring all the old ladies. He passed me once, and there was laughter on his long muzzle. Definitely playing. But it only proved the point of what I was trying to say.
I leapt forward, the robe tangling around my legs. I dropped to the ground, struggled to my feet, and got in front of the group a split second before the werewolf came around for another pass.
“Stop!” I held a hand out, and he skidded to a halt, shook his head, and let out a whine. I put all the strength and power I could into my voice. “Go back, you stay behind the Wall, that’s where you belong, you maniac.”