They Called Me A Defective Copy Of My Sister Chapter 09

They Called Me A Defective Copy Of My Sister Chapter 09

That night, the past came back in fragments. 07 in his cage, tearing his only piece of bread in half and sliding the larger piece through the bars to me.

07 soaked in blood, grinning like he was untouchable. “And whoever breaks it is a pathetic

little mutt.”

I woke up to a soaked pillow and rain hammering the windows.

Rain heightens a shifter’s senses – everything got louder, closer, rawer. I padded barefoot into the living room and stopped. A pair of mud-caked boots sat by the door.

Silas’s boots. He was back. A thin line of light spilled through the bedroom door, left slightly

open.

I moved toward it before I could decide not to. Through the gap, what I saw made my blood

go cold.

Silas wasn’t sleeping.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed with a towel, scrubbing his neck – right where Vance carried my claiming mark.

The skin was rubbed raw – past red, straight to bleeding. He was scrubbing at it with the kind of disgust you’d save for something filthy, like the mark was a brand he couldn’t burn off fast

enough.

My hand found my mouth. Not a sound. So that’s how much he hated it – carrying a mark that meant he was bound to me.

A forged mark he couldn’t just wash off, so he was trying to scrape it away instead.

Then he went still – he’d sensed me.

His head snapped toward the door. His eyes had gone crimson – all beast, all threat.

The second he recognized me, the red drained out. What replaced it was worse – raw, cornered panic.

“H-Hazel.” His hand flew to his neck – useless. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. There was nowhere to hide.

Every scar on his torso was on display – the worst of them thick and deep, grotesque in the

low light. I pushed the door open and walked in.

“Don’t move.” I pulled the first-aid kit from the cabinet – antiseptic, cotton swabs.

Every muscle in his body locked up. “I’ll do it myself.”

He reached for the kit. I pulled it out of range and gave him a look.

“You want to blow this whole arrangement and have Ruby asking questions?”

That shut him up. He went still shoulders dropping, chin tucked, the fight draining out of

him like a scolded puppy. When the cotton swab hit the raw skin, he hissed through his teeth.

His tail lashed behind him – an irritated flick that grazed the back of my hand. The fur

tickled.

“Does that hurt?” I kept working as I asked.

“I’m fine.” Stubborn. But his voice still shook.

“I’ve had worse.”

“Then why are you shaking?”

“I’m cold.”

“You’re lying.”

I lifted my gaze and held it – locked straight on his.

“07. Are you lying to me too?”

Silence. His pupils shrank to slits.

His tail – mid-flick a second ago – went rigid and coiled around my wrist like a vise. The pressure was almost painful.

He didn’t seem to notice. He just stared at me, and something behind his expression was coming apart.

“What did you just call me?”