Slate Gray

Chapter 12: Perrin Slate

Forty miles outside our destination, Terry signals for me to follow and we pull into a gas station to refuel. It's a modest, brightly lit oasis amidst the wintery night and as I step down from the RV, I peek around the side to spy on our enigmatic intern.

He's standoffish as he fills up his bike, his back to me, leather clad shoulders hunched against the whipping wind. Someone's still peeved. And at the sight of him shutting me out, another useless emotion slides into my already complicated whirlpool of feelings. Unease that I've missed my shot. That something precious has slipped through my fingers before I even knew it was in my hand.

By design, my inner circle is tiny. Dualistic, in fact. I don't have the emotional bandwidth to invest in every person I come across. To get used to faces I'll most likely never see again. Which is why I keep acquaintances to a minimum and conquests at arm's length.

But I've never met someone on a job before. Someone aware and unafraid of this aspect of my life. Usually, Dad and I are much more subtle when it comes to slaying. We don't go in, shotguns blazing, and reveal ourselves to every civilian we come across. And we sure as hell don't take them on as interns.

Terry pivots to return the gas pump, startling me when our eyes connect. "What?"

"What?" I parrot, flustered that I've been caught.

Spinning on my heel, I scurry inside to get away from him and use Dad's cash to fuel my own vehicle. However, in line behind a slow-moving geriatric trying to pay with quarters, I find myself casually eying him again through the window. He's facing the road now, giving me a perfect view of his profile, jaw muscle clenched as he leans against his motorcycle, the floppy pieces of his dark hair ruffling in the wind.

I guess he's not completely terrible to look at. Ace unabashedly finds him attractive and even Skye said he was pretty. But nah, he's too nice for me. Too upbeat, too eager to please. I prefer my lovers broody. Boys who are attack dogs, not golden retrievers. Girls who barely give me the time of day. People who are as bitter and snarky and fucked up as I am.

I step up to the counter as Terry twitches and takes out his cell, features softening when he flips it open and begins to text. And deep within the recesses of my belly, a dark, jealous creature opens an eyeball.

Putting twenty dollars on my pump, I steal a Reese's from the display and saunter back outside, hands in my pockets to avoid snatching his phone. "Girlfriend wondering where you are?" I ask.

Discerning hazel eyes flicker my way. Maybe Ace isn't the only one who needs to work on subtlety. "No, but my grandma is. We were supposed to catch a movie tonight."

"You're blowing off your grandma for me?" I raise my voice at the end, pretending to choke with emotion. "I'm flattered."

"Don't get it twisted," he retaliates, snapping his phone shut. "She's been bugging me to get out more so she was thrilled to hear I'm spending the night with a friend."

I snort as I remove the gas cap and insert the pump. "Rather presumptuous of you."

"Well, 'friend' sounded better than 'psychopath'."

Simulating shock, I clutch my nonexistent pearls. "I beg your pardon, sir. I identify as a 'dangerous sociopath'. My father is the psychopath."

His stony demeanor finally liquifies and he shoots me a peacemaking grin. Good. Sulking doesn't suit him. "My mistake," he concedes, crossing his arms. "And I don't have a girlfriend at the moment, if that's what you were asking."

"More presumptions? Really, Jerry?" But the jealous thing purrs in approval as it returns to sleep. Holding out the stolen candy bar, I shake it at him so he'll take it. "For you... From a friend."

And the joy that steals across his face at this small gesture does interesting things to the blackened organ behind my rib cage. Maybe it's time I widen my circle.

"So, grandma huh?" I haltingly ask as he tears open the wrapper with his teeth. "You live with her?"

"Sorta," he mumbles around a mouthful of chocolate. "She moved in with me and my mom a few years ago. She's a superstitious nut job but her dumplings are ridiculous."

"That's nice. All my grandparents are dead."

He squints at me. "You're bad at small talk, aren't you?"

"Come on, dude." I roll both my eyes and my whole head at that observation. "I'm trying here. Most people in my line of work are weird loners. Idle chitchat isn't my strong suit."

Terry considers this, wiping his mouth. "Are there a lot of them out there? People like you?"

"A solid handful." I cup my hands and seesaw them. "My dad's hinted at some overarching demonological society but I've yet to meet anyone who wasn't freelance. Plus, a whole society of slayers?" I grimace. "I don't think I'd like that very much."

"Why not?"

"Well, it takes a certain temperament to do this job. And that temperament isn't exactly conducive to teamwork."

"On the subject of teamwork," he crams the second peanut butter cup in his maw, "what's our plan for Malone, oh sociopathic one?"

The gas pump clicks and I bat away his concerns. "Don't worry about the plan. Your sole function is to do whatever I say exactly as I say it."

He huffs, about to crack a joke, when my expression stops him. Gone is the repartee, the camaraderie, the levity. All pretense expunged to give him a glimpse of the steel underneath. Because I can't have anyone else die on my watch. I won't. I wouldn't handle it well if my past is any indication. And the only way to ensure that Terry stays safe, is to frighten him.

So, channeling my father, I step closer so he recognizes who he's dealing with. Who the Alpha is.

"I'm serious," I stress, pitching my voice low and exacting. "This isn't 'jokey, flirty' time anymore. This is 'Perrin's word is law' time. This is 'listen closely or you will die' time." I catch a spark of fear but he instantly smothers it. "If I tell you to shoot yourself in the leg, you do it. If I tell you to stand on your head, you do it. At no point during this little field trip do you think for yourself. And if I deem the situation too dangerous for you, then you run back to the RV and stay out of my way. Especially if I make this face." I establish it for him, the one Ace dubs my "Go To Bed Or Else" face. My eyes grow round and wild, lips a thin, pinched line, nostrils flared and imminent violence in every crease.

Terry presses a fist to his mouth to conceal laughter. "You look constipated."

"Shut up. This is intimidating."

"Maybe to a six-year-old," he volleys back, tossing the Reese's wrapper in the trash. "What if you get knocked out? Or I lose sight of you? Am I allowed to think for myself then?"

"If something happens to me," I sanction, "then you call my dad. But only after you get to safety. You're a newbie under my protection." I poke him roughly in the chest. "I'm not losing you to something as dumb as misplaced bravery. Are we clear?"

"Crystal. But let's get one thing straight..." He closes the distance between us and I catch a whiff of gasoline and leather as I crane my neck to glare at him. "I'm all for you bossing me around. If we're being honest, I kinda like it. And I think you do too." His confession is a flint striking in my stomach, the spark stirring a different sort of creature. This one languid and syrupy and distracting. "But your dad told me to bring you back without a scratch and I intend to. So, you're shit outta luck if you think I'm gonna ditch." He's so close now that I could headbutt him if I wanted, his scrutiny messing with my pulse. "No matter how big your eyes get."

My expression remains stony, but I feel my ears burning. "Just respect the chain of command, alright? I'm at the top," I use my hand to show him, "and you're waaaaaaay down here with all the other protozoans."

Terry smirks, so self-assured I want to smash his teeth. "Good thing I like a girl on top." He pulls away and cold air slams in to replace his warmth, staggering me. "Come on," he calls, climbing back onto his bike. "Let's go fight some demons."