"Can you sleep at night, Cormac?" "Most of the time. When I'm not thinking about you." He grimaced. "I shouldn't have said that. Sorry." "No," I said softly. "I'm sorry." His voice was low, drawn from a dark place. "Sometimes, I wonder what would have happened if I'd shot him. After he was bitten. If I'd killed him like he wanted me to. And then, what if I came to see you. To tell you what happened. You'd be all sympathetic. You'd tell me how sorry you were, you'd start crying, I'd hold you, and then—" "Cormac, stop. Stop it. You don't actually wish…" I couldn't even say it. Cormac and Ben were like brothers, he couldn't wish Ben dead. "No," he said. "Only sometimes." "That's psychotic." "'Sociopathic' is what the prison psychologist wrote down." "Geez, Cormac—" "No, never mind. It's all just thinking." He glanced away, hiding his expression. "I don't think it would have worked out. At the end of the day…it just wouldn't." That little mischievous bit of my brain reared her catty head. I narrowed my gaze and said, "But it might have been fun finding out." "Yeah," he said, smiling.
Kitty and the silver bullet, Carrie Vaughn