CHAPTER NINETEEN
Ailsa
WHEN THE PRICK arrived back after having cleaned himself from his little accident, he was back to his asshole self, barking orders at me.
I had to pull my gaze from him because damn him and his stupid adonis belt adorned with the perfect little happy trail.
He looked so damn good, not to mention his ink.
His torso was covered in it; some looked new, some looked…
well, ancient. So faded that he looked like he sunbathed twenty four seven.
I’d been so distracted by the blood and the near life or death experience that I hadn’t really taken any of it in earlier.
I followed him in silence, now stifling a laugh because while he’d opted against wearing a shirt, he’d made an attempt to clean his jeans and now looked like he’d pissed himself.
He’d gone a tad overboard on the cleaning, and he was visibly on edge.
His calm exterior was finally cracking and I loved that I was here to witness it.
In fact, If he kept going this way I might even be able to make a run for it.
But I’d have to time it and wait for the perfect moment.
I saw little sense in running from him right now given that we were still in the middle of nowhere with those damn beasts lurking.
But I could wait.
Maybe I should have been more grateful for the way he had protected me but then again, I would never have been in the position to need protection in the first place if it wasn’t for him. So as far as I was concerned, it was all his fault.
After what felt like an eternity of walking, though realistically couldn’t have been more than an hour or so, he’d led us to the outskirts of a sleepy little village.
“Don’t get any ideas,” he muttered, pulling me to his side by the elbow. “Stay at my side and do as I say.”
“Sure thing, boss,” I yawned.
He grunted but apparently decided against taking the bait, instead ushering us into a dusty old pub. I’d guess that the pub had been here longer than the village itself.
It was low beamed and not quite straight, its stone exterior darkened by years of weather erosion and neglect.
The door groaned as Davien pushed it open, the sound cutting through the low murmur within and I was sure everyone’s eyes turned to us.
I hesitated before stepping inside, following Davien. The air inside was thick with the smell of stale beer, damp wood and something sour beneath it, like it had seeped into the very walls over decades.
We headed straight for the bar, ignoring the stares of the locals.
I’m sure we must have been a bizarre sight in a village like this, and that was without noting that Davien was walking around shirtless in November.
And they’d probably not seen anyone below the age of fifty in just as many years.
They were straight up leering at me. One of them even had the audacity to lick his lips suggestively at me.
I knew the types of men these were, came across them far too often in life, and this, this right here was one of the reasons I embraced my newfound vampiric nature so readily.
I was no longer prey to them, and never would be again.
Truth was, had Davien not been here right now, I probably would have happily drained every single last one of them. And I would have enjoyed it too.
Heck, I still might. Maybe Davien would let go of that restraint he carried like a shield and join me.
“Stay here,” Davien warned, planting me on a stool at the bar. The barman was about to open his mouth but Davien cut him off. “She’ll have a double vodka. Don’t suppose I could use your phone?”
“It’ll cost you,” the man behind the bar said eventually, after he was done glaring at the pair of us, lazily preparing the drink.
“There’s a payphone through those doors,” he vaguely gestured to the left, then he turned to me.
“Here you go love, you need anything else, let me know,” he said, his eyes not leaving me as he spoke.
Davien didn’t respond, instead making his way to make his precious phone call.
Probably to the people he worked for. I really should make a run for it.
I downed the vodka, not that it did much of anything.
I supposed this was why vampires in movies were always drinking.
Feels like I’d need a gallon of it just to feel a buzz.
“Sure you’re safe with that weirdo?” The barman said, gesturing at the doors Davien had disappeared behind.
“I’ll keep you safe, doll,” a middle aged, overweight creep taunted from the corner.
“If she’s to be sittin’ on anyone’s lap it’ll be mine. I call dibs,” the barman drawled and my gaze caught on his ugly neck. I cocked my head as I watched the pulse beneath his skin calling to me. I could use a real drink. Davien had taken too much earlier. I still wasn’t quite right.
I didn’t bother responding. I didn’t need words to end them.
I licked my lips—the fool actually thought he had the power here—and my fangs descended.
The sharp point of them poked into the soft of my tongue as I wondered how long it would take for me to immobilise them all before they could make it out, or their screams woke the neighbours.
My pulse echoed in my ears and I decided, fuck it.
I leapt across the bar and sank my teeth into his neck.
Blood filled my mouth in an instant. It felt so wrong, yet so fucking right.
Power thrummed in my veins, and before the fatso to my right had the chance to piss himself, I lunged myself at him, tearing into his neck so deeply that I knew he’d bleed to death in the next minute.
I was making a mess, but I didn’t care. These men were pieces of shit and they chose the wrong woman to leer at tonight.
I doubted they’d be missed by anyone other than each other.
For the first time in my life, I wasn’t at the mercy of men. Of anyone.
I was the one delivering mercy… or well, the lack of it.
My grip on him remained effortlessly strong as I sank my teeth into the next throat, the pulse there frantic, fleeting. I drank deeply, steadily. This time not stopping until his body went slack in my arms, until the last trace of life left him and there was nothing more to take.
This wasn’t like the other times.
I wasn’t draining him because I lacked control or because I was desperately trying to satiate my hunger.
No.
This time… I did it because I could.
Because I wanted to.
No other reason.
Davien appeared in the centre of the room in a rush of movement, his eyes blown wide, something dark and furious burning through them. I’d expected him to drag me out and into the streets.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he turned on the remaining patrons.
It happened in seconds. Necks snapped with brutal precision, bodies hitting the floor almost in unison, the sound of it dull and final.
He moved too fast to properly track, little more than a blur cutting through the dim light, efficient and merciless in a way that felt… personal.
Protective.
The realisation hit me then.
He wasn’t stopping me, he was finishing what I’d started.
Making sure nothing—and no one—came near me.
If I wasn’t so sure I was wrong, I would have thought he cared about me.
When it was done, he stood there, chest rising, once, twice, as his gaze swept over the scene until finally, it landed on me.
For that brief moment the air felt charged. He wasn’t looking at me like I was something that bothered him, like he hated me, but like I was something he treasured deeply. Like I was his and his alone.
“What the fuck happened? Did one of them touch you?” He practically growled. I’d never heard such a sound from him. It was primal, possessive. His eyes scanned every inch of me and I'd never felt so naked under his gaze.
“No,” I giggled, somewhat high from all the blood.
Though his question quickly sobered me, and the spell instantly broke.
I remembered their vile stares and words.
They hadn’t touched me, that much was true, but only because I took away their ability to.
Still, I didn’t want Davien to view me as vulnerable or worse as someone to pity so there was no reason to tell him what had happened while he was on the phone.
“Then why?” he asked, his attention already back to the mess we’d made.
“I wanted to,” I said with a small shrug. Not entirely a lie, I had wanted to end them before they could touch me. And I’d be lying if I claimed I hadn’t enjoyed it.
“For fucks sake, can’t you ever just do as you’re told.”
“Where’s the fun in that? Besides, you put the idea of drinking in my head.”
“Seriously?” he spat, the word sharp with something that bordered on disbelief.
His gaze dragged over me, searching, and for a moment I couldn’t tell if what I saw there was understanding—or disgust. Then he turned away, knocking a row of spirit bottles from the shelves with a careless sweep of his arm, glass shattering against the floor.
I shrugged again, slower this time. “I was thirsty.”
“You're reckless,” he said, already moving back towards me, his grip firm as he caught my elbow and pulled me along. “It'll get you killed.”
He didn’t slow.
At the back of the bar, he crouched briefly, wrenching open a cabinet beneath the counter and yanking free the gas connector with a sharp twist. The faint hiss that followed was almost lost beneath the ringing still in my ears.
He grabbed a cloth from the side, shoved it into the open line, then reached for a lighter from his pocket.
It caught fast.
Flames licked up the bar, hungry and immediate, feeding on all the spilled alcohol and dry wood.
Davien straightened, his hand still locked around my arm as he pulled us back, his gaze fixed on the growing blaze, watching to make sure it took hold. The firelight reflected in his eyes, sharp and alive, the silver flecks there more noticeable than ever.
“Come on,” he said, turning away and dragging me with him.
“Stop manhandling me,” I hissed, wrenching slightly against his grip. “I’m not a fucking child.”
“Then stop acting like one.”