"Styx is not here." She rose from the side of the bed and confronted the girl warily. "And I think you're aware of the fact he isn't."
A black brow arched with feminine arrogance. "Well, if I knew he wasn't here, then I would have looked elsewhere." There was a vein of laughter, an edge of mockery, in Cassandra's tone as she stared around the bedroom. "Normally, he's fairly easy to find.
I wonder why he's hiding." No doubt she believed he was hiding from Storme.
Storme tilted her head and stared back at her, wondering why the girl hadn't asked her where Styx was rather than why he wasn't there.
"Styx wouldn't have told you where he was," Cassandra said softly, that smile on her lips sending a rush of disbelief tearing through her. Cassandra couldn't have known what she was thinking. "It's obvious from the bars on the windows and the guards outside that you're a prisoner, so I guess it would be rather useless to inquire from you into his whereabouts?"
Posed as a question, but Storme couldn't shake the feeling that it was deliberate, any more than she could ignore the glitter in those light blue eyes. They were as eerie as Jonas Wyatt's silver gaze.
"If you know a prisoner is here, then why bother to come in looking for Styx?"
Storme asked confrontation-ally as she crossed her arms over her borrowed T-shirt.
Cassandra's lips quirked again. "I'll have to talk to Styx about loaning my clothes out without my permission. That's one of my favorite T-shirts." There was an edge of anger in the girl's voice, an edge that said she wasn't pleased to learn that Styx had loaned Storme anything that belonged to her.
"I left those clothes here, come to think of it," Cassandra murmured. "They look much better on me."
The jeans were a little long. Cassandra was an inch or so taller than Storme, with a lithe, slimmer figure. Storme knew she was a bit hippy, and that made the jeans rather snug. Cassandra's br**sts might be fuller, which explained why the T-shirt was just a bit loose.
Storme's lips tightened. "Would you like to have them back?" she asked with false sweetness.
"You could wash them first." Cassandra shrugged. "I hope you wear panties."
Storme breathed in deeply. The other girl was being damned catty for a Wolf Breed.
"Actually I don't," Storme drawled. "But I'll make sure the jeans get a nice rinse."
"Just keep them." Cassandra straightened, her gaze suddenly more intent, sharper.
"I didn't mean to make you feel inferior, I was simply upset that Styx didn't ask for the clothing."
Was this woman deranged?
"You can have the clothes back," Storme assured her.
Cassandra shook her head. "I have more you can borrow if you need them. There are few Breed females here at Haven that will meet your size requirements. I would be closest."
Storme watched her warily. For a moment, Cassandra Sinclair looked like any teenager in the world, but she wasn't. Storme had never realized how difficult it must be for the Breeds to maintain the reality of what they were in the face of the illusion they presented to the world.
She was having sex with a Breed male, and now standing here in front of a Breed female that the Council would pay more than three million dollars to possess themselves, she found herself questioning many of the beliefs she'd had for years. Questions she shied quickly away from because she was terrified of the consequences of delving too deeply into them.
As she stared back at Storme, Cassandra didn't appear to be a miracle of genetic engineering, nor did she appear to possess the special, dangerous abilities the Genetics Council was rumored to have stated she possessed.
She looked like any normal teenager confronting someone she didn't understand, and who could possibly be a danger to her. And, Storme admitted, there were times when the anger and rage that filled her could have made her a danger to any Breed.
"You're watching me like Nikki watches her little specimen slides under a microscope," Cassandra laughed.
"You look a lot different than your pictures," Storme said quietly. "A little shorter, and definitely prettier."
The pictures the Council had of her gave her the appearance of cold intelligence.
Black-and-white, they showed her with her hair pulled back from her face, her blue eyes appearing paler than they actually were.
Here, in real life, she looked fragile, vulnerable and full of energy. For a moment, she acted as though she weren't entirely certain of something, but she didn't look cold or dangerous and she sure as hell didn't look as though she would survive the cell labs Storme remembered from the Omega compound where she had been raised.
"Well thank you for the compliment, I guess." The smile Cassandra flashed her was at once uncomfortable as well as warm.