Chapter 21 #3
I keep my own dagger steady against his throat, the rune markings on it glittering gold in the night, the magic sizzling against the fangy asshole. “I wouldn't be so sure of yourself if I were you,” I reply through gritted teeth.
His claw is inches from my heart; my blade is at his throat. Neither of us can move without the other striking true. I quickly consider my options. I could try to pull back and evade his strike, but he’s faster. My strength rune helps balance the playing field, but I don’t like my odds.
No, I need to change the game.
I slash my dagger across Stark’s throat, just deep enough to burn through the thick skin. He hisses in surprise and anger, giving me the split second I need.
The elbow connects, his claw scraping wide of my chest. I go for the leg sweep—catch him just right—and for one beautiful second I’ve got him, forearm jammed against his throat, his back hitting the wall hard enough to crack the brick.
Then I’m airborne.
He’s on me before I land, done pretending this is sport.
I get my knife up in time to deflect the first swipe, give ground, try to find an angle.
There isn’t one. Every opening I think I see, he’s already closed.
Centuries of this. I’m fighting a man who’s forgotten more about killing than I’ll ever learn.
We grind through it—I go high, he slips the cut and comes back with his elbow aimed at my ribs, I get out of the way, he’s already somewhere else. Rinse. Repeat.
He sells the left feint perfectly, and I buy every bit of it. His grip finds my wrist like a trap springing shut, and the pressure is immediate and total. My knife arm folds down and away from my body whether I want it to or not.
His grin is savage and triumphant. He knows he has me.
Then his smile drops. His nostrils flare, his attention snapping to something beyond our fight.
His eyes widen before rage overtakes him, making him go rigid.
“Angelo’s lapdogs are hunting on my territory again,” he says, his voice a low growl. “Keep an eye on Kallista. She’s been catching unwanted attention. “She smells too good not to… and get her scent off you. It’s a beacon.”
He’s gone in a blink, already at the end of the alley before my mind can even process he’s let go of me. Just like that. He… didn’t kill me?
What the fuck?
I stand there stunned, my wrist throbbing where Stark’s iron grip held me only seconds before. He had me dead to rights, fangs bared and poised for the kill. Yet at the last moment, he let me go.
I don’t understand it. Stark is a predator, and he had me cornered. Predators don’t show mercy, not twice. So why am I still breathing?
Something about the way he carries himself doesn’t match the monster described in the Guild’s files.
Tucking my knife away, I break into a jog, catching up to Stark. I need to figure out what the fuck is going on and get some goddamn answers.
“Stay out of this, little hunter,” Stark snaps.
“Not a chance in hell, leech. I’m not letting you out of my sight until I get some answers,” I say. “Starting with why you didn’t kill me back there when you clearly had the chance.”
Especially not when we're circling back toward the hotel.
Lavender eyes flash through my mind.
I immediately tell myself that's not why I pick up the pace.
Then I pick up the pace anyway.
Up ahead I see the hotel, its windows glowing warmly against the night sky. But something isn’t right. Even from this distance something feels off, a stillness in the air that my training taught me to read like a warning.
Stark bursts through the front doors, and I’m close behind, dagger at the ready. The lobby is eerily silent, the front desk deserted. Not a soul, living or otherwise, in sight.
My training kicks in, sharpening every sense to a razor’s edge. The lobby is empty. They weren’t hunting randomly. They were here for her.
Kallie.
Stark’s already moving toward the stairwell, a blur of deadly purpose, and I’m right on his heels.
We take the stairs two at a time, Stark tracking the bloodsuckers by scent.
On the third floor landing he pauses, his eyes bleeding to red, lips curling to reveal his fangs. “Here.”
We burst through the doors and startle the shit out of two vampires, their skin tight and gray over their skulls, their eyes burning with feral hunger. Kallie is further down the hall, pushing a cart with cleaning supplies, dancing along to–what I assume–is a song blasting through her headphones.
“She doesn’t even know she’s in danger,” Stark mutters, and the disbelief in his voice echoes the knot tightening in my own gut. How can she be so careless?
The leeches’ heads swivel back and forth between the threat and their target.
It doesn’t matter.
As soon as Kallie rounds the corner and disappears from sight, Stark and I strike.
We take them down easily. Too easily, maybe, but I don’t let myself think about that.
Stark was right about her. She can’t keep walking around like that—headphones in, oblivious, smelling like that—without someone watching her back.
I catch myself.
She’s a lead.
That’s it.
Stark looks at me for a long moment, then dips his chin once.
I sheathe my dagger.
Truce. For now.