This Savage Song (Monsters of Verity #1)(40)

Who are you?

She reached for the fruit, fingers purposefully brushing his, and again she relished the small shiver that went through him, as if the contact were something foreign, something new.

She took a bite and handed the apple back. He rolled it between his palms.

What are you hiding?

“I wish the rest of the city were like this,” he said softly.

“Empty? Green?”

“Peaceful,” he said, passing her the apple. He never took a bite.

She traced her thumb along her own teeth marks. “Have you ever seen a monster up close?”

Freddie chewed his lip. “Yes. You?”

Kate raised a brow. “My father keeps a Malchai as a pet.”

His eyes narrowed, but all he said was, “I prefer cats.”

Kate snorted and tossed the apple back. “So do I.”

Their voices trailed off, and for a second it was there, that glimpse of easy silence. A gust of wind rustled the branches overhead, sending down a shower of dying leaves, and between the fruit in his hand and his colorless eyes and the golden leaf stuck in his black curls, Freddie Gallagher looked more like a painting than a boy.

Who are you? she wanted to ask.

Instead she reached for the apple, and took another bite.

All afternoon, the questions ate at her. The longer they’d stayed in the forest, the louder the doubt. About him. About her. Maybe there was a simple answer for the alias. Maybe he didn’t have a choice. Maybe sometimes people had good reasons to hide. To lie.

But Kate wanted to know the truth.

She was halfway down the hall when she heard the violin.

She’d gotten out of her last class a few minutes early from a test and was killing time until the final bell. Her steps slowed as she listened, assuming—hoping—it was Freddie. A glimpse of truth among the mysteries. The music was coming from a classroom down the hall; as she reached the door, it stopped, followed by the screeching of chairs and equipment. She peered in through the glass insert and saw the orchestra students packing up. The bell rang, and as they poured out, she scanned the class for Freddie, but she didn’t see him.

“Hey,” she said to a guy hauling what looked like a cello. He blanched a little when he realized she was talking to him. “Is there a Gallagher in your class?”

“Who?”

“Freddie Gallagher,” she said. “Tall, thin, black hair, plays the violin?”

The guy shrugged. “Sorry, never seen him.”

Kate swore under her breath, and the cellist took the opportunity to escape.

The halls were thinning, and she backtracked to the lockers, reaching them in time to see Freddie packing up his bag. She shot a look at the student one locker down and the girl fled. Kate leaned her shoulder against the metal.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he said, shuffling his books. “I keep finding pieces of forest stuck to my clothes.”

“I brushed myself off,” she said. “Wouldn’t want to give anyone the wrong idea.”

He stared at her blankly. “What do you mean?”

She stared at him. He stared back. And then a streak of color shot across his cheeks. “Oh.”

She rolled her eyes, then remembered her purpose and nodded at the locker. “No violin?”

“It’s at home.”

“I figured you were in orchestra.”

Freddie cocked his head. “I never said I was.”

“Then why bring it?”

“What?”

She shrugged. “Why bring the violin to school, if you’re not in orchestra?”

Freddie closed the locker, not with a crash like everyone else, but with a soft, decisive click. “If you really want to know, I can’t play at home because the walls are too thin. Colton has music rooms, the soundproof kind. So, that’s why I brought it.”

Kate felt her conviction slipping. “Okay,” she said, trying to keep her voice light, teasing. “But if you’re not in orchestra, when am I supposed to hear you play?”

A wall went up behind Freddie’s eyes. “You’re not.”

The words landed like a blow. “Why not?” she asked, temper rising.

He slung his bag onto his shoulder. “I told you, Kate. I don’t play for anyone.”

“I’m not anyone,” she snapped, flushing, suddenly hurt. “I’m a Harker.”

Freddie gave her a disparaging look. “So what?”

“So you don’t say no to me, not like that.”

He actually laughed—a single, icy bark—and shook his head. “You really believe that, don’t you? That this whole city revolves around what you want, because you have money and power and everyone’s too afraid to tell you no.” He leaned in. “I know it’s hard to believe, Kate, but not everything in this world is about you.” He pulled back. “Honestly, I thought you were better than this. I guess I was wrong.”

Kate recoiled, stunned. Her face burned, and anger flared through her, hot as coals. Freddie turned to go, but her hand hit the locker beside his head, barring his path. “Who are you?”

Confusion spread across his face. “What?”

“Who. Are. You?” He tried to knock her hand away, but she caught his wrist and pushed him back against the locker. She’d had enough. Enough games. Enough dancing around the point. “You know what I mean, Freddie.” She brought her metal-glossed nails to the pendant on his shirt. “You really don’t look like a Freddie. Or a Frederick. Or a Gallagher.”