Uninvited (Uninvited, #1)(50)

As soon as I step inside his bedroom, he drops my hand. Chafing my palms on my thighs, I stop in the middle of the room and look around. There are two beds, both unmade. The room is otherwise tidy. One desk. Two dressers.

“You share the room with Simon?”

“With Adam.”

I nod like he’s told me all about Adam. Like he’s told me about anything.

“What are you doing here, Davy?”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“Pollock didn’t come after you for what happened?”

“The Agency’s got its hands full right now trying to decide the fate of all carriers. Not just one. Me by myself . . . I’m not that important.”

“Do you think we’ll be back in school soon?”

“Doubtful.”

I moisten my lips, uncomfortable beneath his glittering gaze. Crossing my arms, I sink onto the edge of one of the beds. “Why do you sound angry?” My voice comes out a whisper.

“Because I am,” he bites back, dragging one hand through his hair and pacing the middle of the small room.

“I came here because I wanted to thank you for what happened at school when that boy hit me and you’re treating me—”

“You shouldn’t have come here at all. It’s not safe.”

At this, I give a little laugh and wave at my neck. “Where will I ever be safe now? Am I supposed to never step outside again?”

He stops and stares at me in a way that makes me feel like I’ve said something really wrong. “Carriers are being attacked just for walking outside their front door. It’s not safe for us. But you decided to get in your car and come here of all places? You’re just asking for it.” His lip curls up at this last bit and succeeds in making me feel officially stupid.

I rise in one motion, flustered, embarrassed . . . angry. “Sorry. I’ll leave you to hide in your house then.”

I start for the door, but he stops me, grabs me with both hands. His breath crashes with mine, lips so close I can almost taste them. “You’re just begging for trouble—”

I jerk free and look around at his sparse room. “What’s worse than this?”

“Oh, c’mon. You really don’t know? Where’s your imagination?”

He advances on me and I inch back until I bump into the mattress. Sinking down, I gasp when he follows and straddles me, his knees on each side of my hips.

“W-what are you doing?” I press a palm against his chest.

“Painting a picture of what’s worse than this. Wasn’t that your question?”

I nod, at a loss for words.

“You have no rights. You’re a sublevel human. That means anything can happen to you and no one will care.” His face dips closer. His cheek rests against mine as he hisses close to my ear, “Anyone can do anything to you. There is no protection. No place in this whole country where you should feel safe now.” His fingers flex on my shoulders. “Understand?”

After a moment, I nod again.

“And it’s only going to get worse for us. It’s been getting worse every year, but after this shooting, the Agency is only going to get more powerful. . . .”

The gust of those words so close to my lips does everything he intends—they frighten and intimidate me.

All of me shivers, quakes inside.

Something in his eyes shifts, darkens. His gaze sweeps over me and then, as though realizing just how close we are, he pulls back. “Sorry,” he mutters, the word a rough rasp. He drags a hand over his face. “You just need to be more careful. There won’t be someone around to protect you all the time.”

I nod again. I could push him off me. He wouldn’t stop me. I inhale, breathing in the smell of him, soap and spearmint, and realize I don’t want to shove him away. Butterflies start to flutter in my stomach. I don’t say a word. It’s impossible. I couldn’t get a word past the lump in my throat. My fingers move, burrow against his shirt, testing the texture, the firmness of his flesh beneath the thin barrier.

“Don’t look at me that way,” he says, his voice almost gruff.

“What way?”

His hand covers mine, stilling the movement of my hand against his chest, and I detect the fast thud of his heart through flesh and bone. Feeling his heart, it occurs to me that it beats just like everyone else’s. Like mine. A month ago, I would have crossed the street to avoid him. Now I seek him out, go to places I would never have dared.

“You’re going to end up dead.” His gaze scans my face with hot-eyed intensity. “You need to stay inside the walls of your house . . . with your family. Your chances are better there.”

“And what about you? Shouldn’t you follow your own advice? You attacked that boy in school. Not too smart.”

“You don’t need to worry about me. I come from this.” He nods at his surroundings and I know he doesn’t just mean his room but the streets outside. “I’ve had to fight my entire life.” He shakes his head. “You can’t understand that. You’re different. You’re not violent, not a killer.”

“And you are? Is that what you’re saying?” Without thinking, I slide my hand against his throat, grazing my thumb over the H. “This is you then? You deserve this?”