Soulless (Book #2 of Hunted)

Feral Kitten

I saw Phoebe putting the duffle bag into the refrigerator. She sat down at the counter and looked at me with dull eyes. I sat down across from her.

"Why are you so stupid?" she asked me. My jaw dropped open.

"I'm not stupid," I said self-consciously. Phoebe cleared her throat and said almost too quiet to hear, "Could've fooled me." I looked at my arm and saw that it had already healed without a scar.

"Phoebe," I said cautiously. She looked up at me. "I don't think that creature in the basement is evil," I informed her with complete calm. Her mouth fell open slightly and she gave me her best 'you're seriously losing it' look.

"You're kidding me right?" she said unbelievingly. I shook my head.

"No, I'm not. Before you came down to the basement he was in control," I asserted. Phoebe nodded sarcastically.

"Oh really? So that thing that screamed in your face and tried to rip your neck open was in control? That was Zane?" She asked the sarcasm palpable.

"Of course it was Zane. I mean not smooth careful Zane but it was him, he spoke," I said.

"Yeah I heard him, what did he say?" she asked. I shrugged.

"He wasn't really speaking cohesively but he said 'warm' first. He was rubbing his face against mine and purring—"

"Purring?" Phoebe cut me off. I touched the spot of blood on my jaw that had come from his face and nodded.

"That's what it sounded like. Then he said 'Sânge' and 'Sirenă.'" I continued. She looked at me in confusion.

"Siren?" she asked.

"Yeah, I wasn't sure what it meant either," I replied. Phoebe sighed and got up off the stool she was sitting on. She walked to the stove and grabbed the stainless steel kettle off the back burner.

"Well, nothing we can do about it now. You want some tea?" she asked in a kind of bland voice. She went to the sink and filled the kettle with more water before setting it back on the burner and turning it on high.

"Sure," I said rubbing the blood off my face and laying my head on the counter top. Phoebe pulled open the pantry door and reached up to the top shelf to grab a couple tea bags.

"What kind do you want?" She asked as she tossed a single bag of oolong on the counter.

"Chamomile," I mumbled against the table. Another bag of tea hit the table and she closed the pantry. She grabbed the tea cup she had been using before and a new one from the cupboard and set them on the counter by the stove. She grabbed the sugar and scooped three teaspoons into her cup and one into mine. You know you have a real friend when she knows exactly how you like your tea. She stood by the stove, waiting for the kettle to whistle and asked, "What do we do now?" I shrugged, my face still pressing into the cool marble counter top.

"Drink tea," I suggested mockingly. She laughed sardonically.

"Real funny, smart ass. I mean about the feral kitten in the basement," she said. I lifted my head up to stare at her.

"Did you just refer to Zane as a feral kitten?" I asked her. The kettle started to whistle shrilly and Phoebe pulled the kettle off the burner and switched the stove off. She set the tea bags in the cups and filled the cups with steamy water.

"I find feral kitten preferable to bloodthirsty murderer," she said with a sickly sweet smile as she set my tea in front of me with a plastic stir stick. I couldn't help but grin.

"Seriously, Lor, what are we gonna do?" she asked sitting down across from me and stirring her tea. I shook my head hopelessly.