Free Darksoul by Eveline Hunt

wagged wildly from side to side and it woofed again. Hunter stared down at it. I could’ve sworn his cool eyes softened.
    “Cooper!” A middle-aged lady ran up, but stopped on her tracks when she saw who her pet was getting chummy with. “Oh…I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes lingering on Hunter’s cigarette, on his tattoos. She tried to smile at him. “Boy’s a little rowdy, that’s all. I’ll go ahead and…”
    She bended down to get the little dog, but it was practically hugging Hunter’s leg. Ever so lazily, he leaned down, picked it up with, I noticed, the gentleness that teddy bears were made of, and held it out to her.
    “Yes, thank you.” She gave us a tight smile and turned to go. Halfway down the sidewalk, she brushed off the puppy, as if she thought Hunter had dirtied it.
    “So,” I said, turning back to him with a barely-suppressed smile. “Animal lover?”
    “No.”
    “Right,” I said, climbing onto my bike. “So, anyway. I guess I’ll see you on Monday.”
    Impassive gray eyes. Not half as soft as they were a moment ago. “Sounds like you think we’re friends.”
    “Well, I don’t hate you as much as I did a week ago, so—”
    “We’re not friends.” He was close enough to touch, and as he blew out another trail of smoke, it spilled over my face. I coughed into my sleeve and glared at him. “We’ll never be.”
    Seriously? “Okay, newsflash, asshole. I don’t need you. See, I have friends. You don’t.”
    “Friends?” He blinked once. “You mean that gu y you’re huffing after but who won’t look twice at you? He clearly wouldn’t poke you with a mile-long pole, Hazel. Give up already.”
    I clenched my teeth, fighting off tears. Back to square one. “You know what, Slade? Fuck you.”
    “Fuck you,” he echoed, blowing a puff of smoke into my face again. “No. Sorry. I wouldn’t stick it up your ass even if you paid me.”
    A tear spilled. “I’m pretty sure I can find a better place to get herpes. Like the public toilet.”
    Before he could respond, I shoved off the curve and pedaled away, rushing into the dying autumn light. It was way too much. The attack, the monster s, Ash, a hostile blonde smoker, angels with silver, deadly feathers and boys with arms made of ice— Though two of those might just be synonymous with one another.
    I ripped down the street, chilly air stinging my cheeks. Wings fluttered overhead. I ignored them. When I stopped at the intersection light, I looked back, sending Hunter a mean, non-quivery scowl.
    But then I paused.
    Hunter was gone.

 
    Chapter 7
     
    When Mom arrived from work that night, she came in with one thing on her tongue, and one thing only. Kicking off her heels, she barged into the kitchen and demanded, “I want you to call Hunter, the boy who gave you a ride today, so he and I can have a talk. I don’t know him, and I need to know him, and—well, obviously he got you to Marco’s—but—”
    She cut off when she saw the look on my face. I was lifelessly standing by the stove, trying to make dinner.
    “Honey?” she asked, coming to my side. “What’s wrong?”
    Blinking back to the present, I muster ed up a smile. “I’m okay. Really. I’m…”
    I trailed off when her eyes drifted to the countertop. Our knives and forks sat there, along with the house scissors and Mom’s sharp tweezers. She dropped her hands and turned in a full circle, sucking in her breath. The old tools that had been in the garage—screwdrivers, pliers, hammers, wrenches, even a small handsaw—were strewn on the kitchen island. Two plates lay broken on the floor. The pointiest, biggest parts had been set apart, as though they’d passed some kind of inspection.
    “I’m sorry.” The words scraped out of my lips, quiet and raw. My chin quivered and, hugging myself, I crumpled to the ground. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—I’m sorry I made such a mess—”
    “No, no,” she said, her voice gentle, as if she were speaking to a spooked