Miscreants: Next Generation by Natalie Bennett (classic books for 7th graders TXT) 📕

of the gambit’s handle, he reversed the motion, dragging the blade back up and twisting it twice to deepen the initial entry wound. There was a heavy intake of air as Mack gasped and choked. His body spasmed, fingers burrowing into the dirt before he became utterly still.

I stared down at him, feeling nothing for the guy but a mild case of pity. If I hadn’t grown up among Savages or witnessed Samael’s homicidal tendencies on multiple occasions, this would have traumatized me.

Samael removed his blade, wiping it clean on the hem of Mack’s shirt before rising back to his full height. His shoulders rose slightly as he inhaled and exhaled. When he turned to look at me, his eyes conveyed what the kill made him feel.

Satisfaction.

Excitement.

Death. The taking of a life. It could bring with it an indescribable high. One that Samael needed. Struggling to remain nonchalant and indifferent beneath the weight of his gaze, I gestured to Mack’s unmoving body.

“Was that all?”

“Yeah, you can go now.” He turned away from me, his tone dismissive.

I stared at his back for a moment, feeling like I should say something else, but I was hesitant to do so with an audience.

Dawn gave me a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes before stepping up beside him.

Would it have been wrong of me to grab her by the hair and drag her away from him? I knew jealousy was a waste of time, but there I was, caught up in my feelings and ready to throw away some more of mine.

It wasn’t as if I didn’t understand her, either. Samael was incredibly special. Loyal to his own detriment. Intelligent. Intensely masculine. Falling in love with him was a casualty any women could become a victim of.

Too bad that knowledge didn’t cool the burn seeing her near him caused.

In my mind, even when he wasn’t mine, he was mine.

Bloodied and all.

In the end, Takara wisely grabbed my hand and led me away, saving my dignity before I could make a bigger spectacle of myself.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“You can’t learn from mistakes you never make. Some of us make more than a few before we see the error of our ways. The damage we do may be irreparable. That’s a shitty part of life, but no one can take away the lessons they give us.”

The words were spoken to me by my father three days before everything changed.

Three days before I was tricked away without any kind of warning or goodbye.

I was young and foolish, but the thing about that is that eventually we’re forced to grow the hell up. There are certain realizations that come with growing as a person, good and bad. For me, I realized there’s more to life than I’d ever fathomed.

I learned the hard way that it’s impossible to remain free of burdens and heartache. Sooner or later, you’ll have to make choices, and with them comes consequences—negative and positive.

My father’s words often repeated inside my head. I wondered what he’d say to me now, today. I wasn’t anything like the little girl from back then. How disappointed would he be to see this version of me?

What about my mother? How much had she changed after losing all her children? I knew Cam was alive, but there was no way he was still the same after what Braxton had done to him.

With a sigh, I pulled on a pair of cotton shorts, digging through my dresser for a matching tank.

It was dark out now, and the faction was as active as ever. Music blared with no regard for the hour or the cabin’s thin oak paneled walls. Takara had offered to stay with me, but I think she could sense I needed to be alone for a while. My mind hadn’t stopped spinning since the night before. The day’s events only added to the chaotic swirl. I needed some quiet before it spiraled any further.

A rustling sound came from the left, and then the curtain was moving. Samael stepped in, looking freshly showered. Just like that, my room was suddenly ten times smaller. I tore my eyes way from him and grabbed the first tank I saw.

“Did you forget how to knock?”

“You never did.”

I pouted, pulling on my top.

I hadn’t seen him since I was called to witness Mack’s death.

“What do you want?”

“For you to look at me.”

The softness of his tone plucked at my heartstrings. I turned and gave him my full attention. He was leaning against the wall, the soft glow from my lamp lighting his features. His eyes seemed so dark right then—bottomless pools of nothing. Being the target of his heavy weighted gaze made me feel uneasy. I always felt as if he could see right through me.

“Are you happy now?”

“Yes.” Huh? What was with that blunt reply? “You never look at me anymore. You avoid me as if I’m carrying the plague.”

“That’s not—”

“I don’t blame you for pretending to hate me, but it’s not going to change anything. You’ll always be mine.”

Where was this coming from? I couldn’t find the words to reply right away. My first thought was to immediately shoot down his accusation.

The second was that maybe leaving all these misunderstandings as they were would benefit me in the long run. There was a physical ache in my chest, leaving those words to linger between us, but I persevered by changing the subject.

““So?” Unsure what to do with my arms, I crossed them loosely and popped out a hip, trying to appear unaffected. “Why are you going on another run?”

“There’s something I need to see personally.”

He’d replied without missing a beat. What had I really been expecting? Samael never let himself be vulnerable.

“Something that’s not in the