Page 4

Three

ALEC

She so wisely and stupidly tries to escape, though it’s taken her longer to attempt than I assumed it would.

I let her go, cocking my head to listen as she rushes down the stairs, her heartbeat thrumming. The rate it’s going is enthralling. So few things make someone’s heart beat that quickly—fear and lust being two of the most common.

Both make my fangs extend far past the gums, the urge to satisfy those parts of me elevating my own excitement as I wait a moment, granting the little Sinclair a brief head start.

The magickless Sinclair. That was certainly a surprise. As far as all my reports go, she has powers. Or had , at the very least.

The front door of the house opens and shuts before I move, slowly following her scent through the house.

Her fucking scent . Being at the distance I’ve been for days, I wasn’t graced with nearly the same amount of it until entering her home earlier, but fuck . She smells like pure sin, the ultimate temptation luring me to death. That’s what humanity would be for me: death.

Thankfully, I was wise enough to feed last night, capturing a human in the next town over, so it’ll keep me going for a few days. At the very least, until Sinclair is behind bars and the temptation passes.

I maintain my pace to be no faster than a human’s brisk walk, allowing her to get farther, knowing with every step she takes, catching her will be that much more thrilling.

At our core, vampires are hunters. Chasing prey, letting their fear tinge the taste of their blood…the only thing sweeter is the vein between a woman’s legs. The hunt is half the fun, and Miss Sinclair is appealing to the monster inside.

Outside, my hearing picks up her feet smacking against the cement on my right, so I head in the opposite direction. My night vision has her about a block away, entirely too close and easy to catch, so I slow to allow her to believe she’s winning for a short while and take a detour.

Sinclairs have always been a prideful bunch. There’s never been one who hasn’t fought me, and it’s fun to witness the second they realize they’ve lost. The light of determination that fades in their eyes right before the light of their life is snuffed.

My steps pick up.

I rub my tongue along the pointed edges of my fangs despite the fact I will not be feeding from the being who’d rob me of my abilities. They’re out because my body is responding to the hunt, the chase, and the ultimate high of soon being the victor.

Eventually, I chase her, the human neighbourhood becoming a blur of muted colours and scents until catching up, even going a few feet past her before stopping.

She slams into me, her gasp as delicious as her fear, but she quickly spins on her heel and bolts down the connected road, as though she has any chance of escape. Even with her few minutes’ head start, I still caught up, so what she’s attempting now won’t get her far enough. At this point, running will tire her out, so I’ll let her do this all night if it so pleases her.

Something shifts inside me. A need urging me to satisfy it—whatever it is or why it’s come.

There’s something about this Sinclair that’s different from the others, though I can’t place why I feel it at all. She hasn’t done anything to warrant the thought.

Whatever it is, it’s something beautiful.

Something… sinister . Something that makes me think Sinclair has more going on than she’d ever let slip.

I shake my head of the unwanted thoughts and notice she’s now a block away, so I run, stopping in front of her again, this time my hands latching onto her upper arms as I walk her backwards, forcing her to the nearest streetlight pole.

She gasps, her vibrant purple eyes wild as she scans the surrounding street for a saviour. No one’s coming for her, and any human she hopes to convince would be sorely mistaken. Or she will be when their heart ends up crushed at her feet.

No one’s taking my magickless, pathetic, money-making witch from me.

While she’s scanning for help, I’m studying her. Her hair, the signature mark of her bloodline, is a shade between red and orange, so representative of the flames she controls. Or, used to control. It falls in long waves around her shoulders, mussed from running. I’ve always despised the colour on her ancestors, but on this one, it captivates me. Her cheeks are rosy, puffed with her heaving breaths, calling my attention to the spattering of freckles decorating her face. A quick count has me determining exactly how many. Her eyes, a few different shades of purple—not remotely concealing her witch identity—are mixed into a colour so lovely, even I can’t help but notice the story they tell.

A story of pain and loss I find myself curious about. There are too many questions circling around this Sinclair. Why she doesn’t have her powers; why she and her parents don’t live with the Highridge Coven, the very coven her ancestors began; and why she’s all alone in this human town are a few of them.

In truth, her being powerless makes my job easier. She’ll have less fight without them, making her practically human. A witch’s strength is their power, and without it, they’re nothing special. But the questions still remain.

While she’s scanning for help, trying to pull herself from my hold in a few pathetic attempts, I finish my study of her. She’s barely tall enough to reach my shoulder, and the skin beneath my grip is broken out in goosebumps, a stupid affliction from the cool nighttime fall air. They coat every part of her skin bared to me. She’s dressed in pyjama pants with little images scattered on them, and the same shirt I watched her wear to bed. It’s shapeless but taut enough over her chest to reveal nipples erect from the cool air. I tear my gaze away, ignoring how the sight sent an aching signal to my fangs, and catalogue the rest of her. There are marks around her wrists—white lines that are only visible in the dark with help of my enhanced vision.

More questions arise over them, but ducking my head, I distract both myself and her by dragging my nose up the column of her neck, her skin soft as silk and so easily crushed beneath my palm if I wished it to be.

“Oh, little witch, you have no fucking idea what you’ve unleashed by running.”

A goddamn addiction.

Feeding from her may not be possible, and I’d never sully myself by fucking her, but I’d happily chase her around my property for as long as she’s able to run. The thrill of the chase will be enough; her fear will feed my bloodlust. If I won’t be killing this Sinclair, nor allowing her to continue her life as normal to create the next generation, then her punishment needs to be long-lasting and satisfying—for me. Hunting her until she dies sounds like an exhilarating idea.

“Little witch,” I muse into her skin, more for myself. The moniker came from nowhere; I’ve certainly never humanized her ancestors this way. “Little witch…no, that isn’t right. You might be short, but you’re certainly not little. You have too much willpower to bow, don’t you? I sense you’re about to make my life very fucking hellish.”

She jerks in my grip, whimpering, her pulse skyrocketing. Knowing it’ll amplify her panic further, my tongue darts over her pulse. Fuck, she tastes better than imagined. And this is only her skin. Her blood would surely destroy me.

“Just do it already and leave me alone.” Her throat bobs with her swallow.

I pull back slightly, but she quickly avoids eye contact, staring towards the nearest house. “What are you talking about?”

“My blood. The cure. It’s why you’re here, isn’t it? What you want. What all you assholes want. Bite me and get it over with.”

I open my mouth, ready to reveal all the ways her life’s about to change, when something scrapes the ground nearby, earning my immediate attention. I straighten from Sinclair, partly disturbed by the fact her addictive scent distracted me enough I didn’t hear the intruder’s approach. Probably some stupid human out for a nighttime stroll.

I turn when my senses begin prickling, the urge to keep the witch behind me protected, growing inexplicably strong, especially when spotting who’s approaching.

Three vampires whose attention is locked on the woman at my back.

“Leave.”

“Your Majesty.” The middle one steps forwards, claiming leadership over the others. He dips his head respectfully, but that respect is quickly extinguished by the flash of red overtaking his black pupils. “You have the Sinclair witch. I didn’t realize you wanted to give up your throne.”

“Why I have the Sinclair girl is none of your business,” I reply dismissively. “Run along before you piss me off.” I’ve already killed one of my kind tonight and have no qualms about taking out three more if they don’t obey.

“We want a taste,” the middle one pleads, while the vampire to his right hisses. “We all have our reasons for craving mortality, and there’s a cure not two feet from you. Only fair you share.”

“In time,” I declare, knowing Sinclair’s listening intently. Can’t give away all my secrets yet.

I see the attack before it comes. When two of them launch themselves at me, I’m forced to spring into action. Fighting with Sinclair was the only battle on my nightly plans, but they’re making me choose otherwise.

They both reach for me, obviously trying to distract me so the third can go for Sinclair. Which is exactly what he does, darting around me, so I quickly pivot directions, heading his way. The other two attack at the same time, and I lose track of whose hits come from where, charging forward. My hands grasp one’s head and I yank, ripping it off his body and ending his life.

I turn for the other two when my ears pick up the sound of quickly retreating steps. She’s running, which isn’t much of a bother. For one, she’ll be quick to catch again, and two, it’s one less thing to focus on while I deal with this infuriating irritation.

Whoever these vampires are, they’re obviously much younger than me, and therefore slower and weaker. One manages to get his arm around my neck, but with a twist of my feet, I’m out of his hold, gripping him by the shoulders instead and jamming my fangs into his neck. Not to feed, but to latch onto his skin, and with a quick jerk, I yank.

His skin ripping creates a shrill sound, followed by the thump of his undead body becoming, well, actually dead as his head is torn from his neck. Blood drips from my mouth. I spit out as much as I can, the taste sour and sickening, before standing to my full height and descending on the final vampire.

“You.” I bore down on him, my steps silent through the pool of blood seeping from the two bodies on either side of me. “You will remain alive, and you will spread the word. You want mortality? I’ll grant it to you, to all vampires…for a fee.”

He hisses, his eyes darting around for an escape. “You don’t own the cure, Dormer.”

“I do now,” I affirm slowly, words paced. “And you will not touch what is mine. Spread that to everyone you know, and attach this warning to it. If anyone goes for her, they’ll be dealing with me, and I promise to make the rest of their immortal life extremely long and painful. Look for my missive. Keep pissing me off, and you’ll be banned from mortality and I’ll instead take your life.”

With a disgruntled huff, he slinks away before taking off in a blur down the road, leaving me bloodied, with the Sinclair witch getting farther away, and two dead vampires by my feet. I should clear them away so the mortals don’t attempt to examine the bodies and learn something is different about them, but in reality, the dumb beings will simply confuse themselves with theories that’ll result in scientific study that goes nowhere for the next few decades but keeps them entertained. If they were going to figure out vampires—as well as witches, shifters, and all the other otherworldly and celestial creatures out there—are walking amongst them, they would have done so a century ago.

Leaving the dead vampires behind, I run in the direction Sinclair’s syrupy scent is taking off to. I catch up when she’s three blocks away, running the opposite way from her house. She’s trying to escape where she believes she won’t be looked for, so I suppose the witch has a bit of a brain.

I stop in front of her, her responding screech echoing through the street. She halts, panting, her gaze taking me in, paying particular attention to the blood dripping from my fangs.

“You cause a lot of trouble. We need to go before more descend.”

I lunge, wrapping a hand over her mouth, fingers pinching her nose. I count to five so I don’t accidentally suffocate her, given that time can pass in a blink if I’m not careful.

She fights for a moment, struggling in her powerless way, before her body drops limp, her head against my chest. It’s then I really take her in, the deep colour of her hair sticking to my shirt and brushing against my arm, probably the silkiest thing I’ve felt in centuries. Her scent invades my nose, making something inside me move—which is impossible because everything inside me, most noticeably my black heart, is dead. Not the scent of her blood, but her .

Pushing it all aside, I reach down to lift her, noting how ridiculously light she is. I could break her with the gentlest touch. This witch needs her powers because if her life ever comes down to a fight, she’d lose.

I suppose, luckily for her, she’ll never need to fight again, with magick or elsewise. Unluckily for her, I’ll be the one she’ll wish she could fight.

Keeping her close to my chest, I turn and start the journey to her new life.

Towards her captivity.