Hunted

floor where Kalona had dropped it and faced Stark. “You should know I only share my blood with those I have invited to taste of me,” Darius’s voice was steady and strong. Had I not been looking at him I would never have known that a river of blood was gushing down his face from a terrible knife slash. “And I have offered you no such invitation, boy. Back away before what happened here gets any worse.”
    There was a dark struggle going on within Stark that was reflected in his entire body. From the glowing red of his heated eyes to the feral grimace of his lips to the tightrope tension that radiated from him, he looked like he was on the brink of an explosion.
    But here’s the deal: I’d had just about enough. Saying my reaction to Kalona’s kiss had freaked me out was the new understatement of the year. My body still ached. My head was woozy. I was so weak I didn’t think I’d win an arm-wrestling contest with, well, Jack. Now Darius was hurt, and I didn’t have a clue how badly. Seriously, you could stick a fork in me and call me so done with all this stress.
    “Stark, just get the hell out of here!” I rounded on him, glad my voice sounded lots stronger than I felt. “I don’t want to zap the crap outta you with fire, but if you take one more step into this room, I swear I’m going to burn your butt up.”
    That got through to him. Stark’s red eyes locked on me. He looked pissed and dangerous. There was a darkness that surrounded him like an aura, making the red in his eyes blaze. I stood, glad that the sheet was staying tucked around my body, and lifted my arms, holding them up and ready. “Do not push me right now. I promise you won’t like it if I lose my temper.”
    Stark blinked a couple of times at me, like he was trying to clear his vision. The scarlet of his eyes faded, the darkness in the air around him dissipated, and he wiped a shaky hand across his face. “Zoey, I—” he began, sounding almost normal. Darius shifted in his defensive stance, taking a step closer to me. Stark snarled at him—actually snarled —like he was more animal than human, spun around, and ran out of the room.
    I somehow managed to stagger to the door and slam it closed, then dragged a chair from near the bedside and propped it under the door handle, just as I’d seen people do in the movies, before I went back to Darius.
    “I am glad you are on my side, Priestess,” he said.
    “Yeah, that’s me. I’m fierce. ” I tried to pretend I wasn’t close to passing out by sounding like Christian from Project Runway . I was pretty sure Darius didn’t know Project Runway from a science project, but it did make him chuckle as we helped each other over to the end of the bed, where he sat heavily and I stood beside him, concentrating on not swaying like I was drunk. Which, sadly, I wasn’t anymore.
    “There should be first aid supplies in the cabinet over there.” He motioned to the long stainless steel cabinet that stretched halfway across the far wall. There was also a sink built into it and a bunch of scary hospital-looking items (they were sharp and very stainless steel) stored neatly in trays and whatnot beside the sink.
    Wearily, I ignored the sharp things and started pulling open drawers and cabinets, which was when I noticed my hands were shaking like crazy.
    “Zoey,” Darius called, and I glanced over my shoulder at him. He looked terrible. The left side of his face was a bloody mess. The slash extended from his temple, all the way down his jawline, messing up the bold geometric design of his tattoo. But his eyes smiled at me and he said, “I’m going to be just fine. This is little more than a scratch.”
    “Well, it’s a big scratch,” I said.
    “I believe it will annoy Aphrodite,” he said.
    “Huh?”
    He started to smile, but ended the attempt with a grimace as the movement caused more blood to pour from the wound. He pointed at his face. “She won’t like the scar.”
    When I had a bunch of bandages and alcohol wipes and gauze and stuff, I came back to him. “If she gives you crap about it, I’ll kick her butt. After I’ve rested up.” I stared at the awful “scratch,” ignoring the delicious scent of his blood and swallowing hard to keep myself from puking.
    Okay, yes, it does sound like a total contradiction: the fact that I love the taste and smell of blood, but that seeing it pouring out of a friend’s body grosses me out. Wait, no. Maybe it’s not a contradiction,