Talia Hibbert

Maybe every single atom in his body imploded, re-formed, and exploded at the sight of that smile. Maybe. But he tried to keep that to himself.

What Chloe actually did to cope was take her medication religiously, write fanciful lists, play The Sims, and live through it. Sometimes it was hard, but she managed by whatever means necessary.

He’d spent Chloe’s entire school career slipping encouraging notes into her book bag because he knew how much she hated English class. If Martin Brown was ordinary, she wished everyone else would be.

Rule of thumb,” he told her. “If you can see someone, they’ll probably see you.”

After all, when it comes to love, it’s not a person’s flaws we’re looking at, now is it?”

But remember what you told me once? About filling in people’s gaps? You do things for me when I can’t do them for myself. I want to support you in the same way. Can we work on that? Together?”

, she wouldn’t compare it to Kenya or Belgium or Cuba because they were all just so different and all equally amazing.

He sighed, paid, picked up his tray and left her alone. According to his research, human women didn’t like being harassed 24/7. He still wasn’t 100% clear on how not to do that, but he was trying his best

“Let’s not talk about me,” she said finally. “Like I said, I have questions for you. Can we go back to your place?”

He gave her a considering look, mischief dancing over the sharp lines of his face. “Maybe I don’t want to be alone with you anymore. You did try to kill me, you know.”

“I know,” she said. “I’m starting to think that I may have been out of order, there.”

“Oh, shit, really? You know what? Me too.”

She rolled her eyes in the face of his sarcasm. “Get over it.”

“I can’t. It haunts me. I might be scarred for life. In fact, I don’t believe I can think straight around you. The fear is just too strong.”

“Fuck off, then,” she huffed, defensive even though she knew he was teasing. Knowing didn’t stop her from drowning in guilt. Call her naïve, but she really hadn’t expected hunting to be so emotionally fraught.

The ghost of a smile flashed over her face, so fast he almost missed it. Then, like a student recapping a lesson, she said, “So, what you’re telling me is… There are two kinds of Werewolves, and you’re currently the not-so-evil kind. Which is why you aren’t sociopathic in human form and completely unable to control yourself otherwise, and led by bloodlust and addicted to human flesh and—”

“Yes,” he cut in.

“Well.” She glared at him as if he’d just ripped off his skin to reveal that he’d been a micropig all along. “You could’ve said something.”

“Chastity… You stabbed me. In the chest.”

“Which would’ve been the perfect time to say something.”

“Forgive me for being somewhat distracted,” he snorted. “I think this is done, by the way.”