This Savage Song (Monsters of Verity #1)(48)

Behind her father, Kate met Sloan’s red eyes.

“I know,” she said, holding the Malchai’s gaze, “that you don’t want me here.”

She waited, half-expecting Harker to deny it, but he didn’t. “No father wants his daughter in harm’s way,” he said. “I already lost your mother, Katherine. I don’t want to lose you, too.”

You lost my mother to fear, she wanted to say. To her own monsters, not the ones that follow you.

“But,” continued Harker, “you deserve a chance. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To prove you belong here, with me?”

The Malchai’s red eyes narrowed.

“I want a chance to show you,” she said, finding her father’s gaze, “that I’m your daughter.”

Harker smiled. No teeth, just a quiet curl of his lips. “You better go,” he said. “Or you’ll be late for school.”

The elevator was waiting. When the doors closed, Kate considered her reflection and brought her fingers to the silver pendant.

I have something for you, too, she thought, clutching the medallion.

She couldn’t wait to see the look on her father’s face when she laid a Sunai at his feet. Then he would know—without a doubt—that she was a Harker.

“Hey, want a lift?”

The morning air was heavy and stale, and August was standing on Paris’s front steps, trying to shove the Colton jacket into his bag when he looked up and saw the black sedan idling on the curb, Kate Harker leaning against it. His fingers tightened on his violin case.

“Um.” He glanced back at Paris’s building. “How do you know where I live?”

She gave him a look that said I’m a Harker before opening the door. “Come on. Get in.”

In response, August actually took a step back. Not a large one—it could have been mistaken for a shuffle, a shift of weight—but he still cursed himself.

“Oh,” he shrugged, “that’s okay. I don’t need—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she cut in. “We’re going to the same place. Why suffer the subway when there’s a perfectly good car?”

Because the perfectly good car comes with a perfectly dangerous girl, he thought, but he managed not to say it out loud. He hesitated, unsure what to do. There could be cameras in the car. It could be a trap. It could be—

“For God’s sake, Freddie. It’s just a ride to school.”

She turned and climbed in without closing the door, an obvious invitation—or maybe a command—to follow.

Bad idea bad idea bad idea thudded his heart as he approached the sedan. He hovered in the open door, then took a breath, ducked his head, and climbed in, closing the door behind him with a click that made fresh panic flutter in his chest.

You’re the monster, he thought, followed rapidly, reflexively, by you’re not a monster, and then, in desperation, be calm be calm be calm, because his thoughts were threatening to spiral out.

The car had two bench seats, one facing forward and the other back, and Kate had already claimed the rear bench, so he took the other one. Putting his back to the driver made him almost as nervous as putting his front to Kate, but before he could say anything, do anything, the car pulled into traffic, and moments later Paris’s building vanished from sight. He could feel Kate watching him, but when he went to meet her eyes, they were leveled on his shirt.

“You’re not wearing your medal,” she said.

August’s pulse stuttered. He knew even before he looked down that she was right. There was no prickle of iron, no weight, because the medallion was still on his bedroom floor where he’d thrown it the night before.

He groaned, and leaned his head back on the seat. “My dad’s going to kill me,” he muttered.

Kate shrugged. “It’s okay,” she said, flashing the ghost of a smile. “But make sure you’re home before dark.” He couldn’t tell if she was joking.

The car cut through the streets, a blur of speed, the city tunneling behind Kate’s head. Her nails, usually tapping their short, metallic beat, were curled into her palms.

If she learns the truth, you’ll know.

He watched her chest rise, her lips part.

She’ll tell you herself.

August braced himself, but when she spoke, all she said was, “I want to apologize.”

“For what?” asked August, and Kate gave him one of those looks that wasn’t really surprise. “Oh,” he said, “you mean, for assaulting me in the hall.”

Kate nodded, opened her mouth, then closed it again. He tensed. She seemed to be struggling to find the right words. Was she trying to hold back? Could she? He watched as she fiddled with the medallion around her own throat. It was new, polished silver and bloody red stones. “Look,” she said at last, “growing up the way I have, I guess it makes a person . . .”

“Paranoid?”

Her dark eyes narrowed. “I was going to say guarded. And yes, okay, a little paranoid.” Her hand slipped from the coin. “There’s not a whole lot of trust in my family. I don’t expect you to understand.”

August wanted to say that he did, but he couldn’t, because it wasn’t true. For all their differences, Ilsa and Leo were like family, and so were the Flynns. He trusted them.