Page 36 of Will It Hurt?

Aisla

I felt her in the air—watching, waiting, out of sight. The altercation had dialed up the intimacy between us, not the kind you’d experience with a lover, but something more. This person had controlled my shuddering breaths beneath their fingers and carved bruises into my neck.

The connection we had was far more intimate now. A bond forged in fear and blood.

The breeze on the back of my neck brushed against the gash she’d left behind, and I wondered if the scent of my open wound drew her close.

I had studied vampyre anatomy enough to know that the call of the familiar was strong in the undead.

She had scented my blood once, drawn it unwilling from my flesh, but it was now cataloged among several other factors she presumed to know about me.

Wytch.

Neutralizer.

Killer.

A flash of movement made my breath freeze, and I almost took a step backward.

Unwise, I told myself. Never show fear. They feed on fear.

The way she materialized in a haze of darkness made my belly tighten. In my jacket pocket, my fingers turned to fists.

“Bold of you to be out here by yourself,” she sneered .

I’d never had anyone study me with such hatred, such loathing. Especially not a stranger.

“I want to agree, but I’m standing on my covenstead with the knowledge that it’s warded. Nothing you do can harm me within its boundaries.”

Her lips lifted in a smirk, the sharp, jagged points of her canines glinting in the lamplight.

“Coward,” she muttered under her breath.

“Why the fuck have you been watching me? Following me?” I asked. “Why did you attack me this evening?”

Her tweed coat ruffled in the wind as her sculpted brow rose, dark against her pale skin.

“Why?” she asked. “Because you took someone very special away from me.”

Confusion creased my skin.

“You’re a killer,” she continued, her fingers tracing the gold chain along her vest. “You kill those like me.”

“ Kill is not the word I would use,” I insisted. “This is my job. It is perfectly legal—”

Her scoff was infantilizing. I pushed on.

“I only do what I’m paid to by the High Coven.”

“Does that help you sleep at night?”

The words dipped between my ribs and lanced the soft place that was always filled with doubt.

“What does help me sleep at night is knowing that the undead who show up for their appointments want to be let go. The process is quick and peaceful and—”

“And what?” she demanded. “They’ll find salvation on the other end?”

“I don’t think salvation is possible for your kind, but it’s not up to me to debate the afterlife with someone who tried to kill me with their bare hands. ”

A soft noise curled in the air between us—a cross between a harsh breath and a soft growl.

“I should report you,” I said, watching her take a step closer. “You will be sanctioned by the High Coven for violating a number of peace treaties.”

“Do I look like I give a shit?”

“You should .”

The icy wind whistled between us.

“Look,” I said, trying to bring the conversation to a swift end. “I can only assume the person who chose voluntary neutralization was someone you cared about. I appreciate that you’re angry and hurt by their decision, but that does not mean you can take it out on me. You don’t even know me.”

Her cheek twitched in anger. It was the smallest flicker of movement, but I saw it—a brief tremor beneath her carefully controlled mask.

Despite that composure, all that control, I knew—I knew —that beneath the surface, she was seething.

And an angry vamp was a dangerous one.

“Now, if you’ll leave me alone, I won’t report you to the High Coven, but I won’t tolerate any further attacks.” I swallowed as I reached for the lie. “You’re lucky I didn’t neutralize you this evening.”

She took another step closer.

“Is that what brings you joy? Removing people from this earth? Absorbing their powers as your own?”

“Not people,” I said. “Undead. And no, it doesn’t bring me joy. This is my ancestral job—I’m stuck in it, just like you’re tethered to your immortality. Neither of us can escape what we were born into.”

Her dark gaze was unwavering as she stared at me with complete focus only the undead were capable of. No blinking, no moving. Her eyes bore into mine as though she was trying to shred my soul through one look alone .

Curse the moon, it was as though my very existence disgusted her.

“Who are you looking for?” I asked, shifting on my feet.

“Annabel Gibs.”

A pair of bright blue eyes drifted into the haze of my memories.

“I remember her,” I said, glancing at my boots. “I still have her belongings, if that would bring you any comfort.”

For long moments, she stared at me, the muscles in her cheeks twitching as the gears turned in her head.

“The High Coven usually sends someone to pick up these belongings to send them along to next of kin. Or they dispose of them.”

“Dispose of them,” she repeated. “Like you disposed of Belle.”

My patience was wearing thin.

“Do you want her belongings or not?” I asked, unable to keep the sharp note of irritation out of my voice. “Because I have better things to do than stand out in the freezing fucking cold and argue with a vamp. Like tend to my many cuts and bruises, for example.”

A slight flinch along her temple was the only indication that my words had gotten to her.

She nodded once, almost imperceptibly.

I turned and stalked down the sidewalk, following the path of the iron gates.

She trailed behind grudgingly, her wingtips quiet on the asphalt beneath us. I wondered briefly if she felt a lick of frustration at being forced to walk at a mortal’s pace. But I doubted I could move any faster; my over-worked muscles protested each step forward .

“Wait here,” I said, although she didn’t have much choice in the matter. The wards would keep her out if she even placed the tip of her shoes past our gates.

I slipped through a smaller side entrance that led to the corner of our back garden. The door to the storage shed sat ajar.

Annabel’s things were on top of a pile of forgotten clothes, bags, hats, books. I plucked the scrap of blue fabric—all that was left of the coat—and the black bag, pulling the door shut behind me.

The vamp said nothing as I handed her the scant remnants of someone she had once loved.

If she had been capable of breathing, her breath would have hitched as she cradled the items, gently unlatching the bag to peer inside.

“Was she your lover?” I asked, watching as sadness filled each new crease on her face.

No, it was more than sadness. It was grief.

“She was my child.”

My throat tightened, tendrils of her pain snaking into me even as I tried to fight it.

“I’m sorry,” I said, the crack in my voice surprising her and myself. “It’s never easy to lose someone.”

I could still feel the sting of her earlier attack, the bruises blooming beneath my skin, the phantom ache where her hands had tried to end me.

But none of that mattered. Not when she stood before me now, limbs taut with the effort of keeping herself together as she looked at what was left of her child.

So I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. I let the silence stretch, let her grief settle between us like a fragile, living thing.

Long minutes later, I said: “I hope this brings you some relief. ”

“Unlikely,” she replied, the word clipped, although I could see behind the mask she wore. “The urge to end your existence still rides me hard.”

And just like that, all the soft feelings disappeared.

“Well, too fucking bad,” I said, falling back a step. “That’s not happening today.”

She took yet another step forward, closing the distance between us. A tightness slithered through my limbs—a prey’s natural response. She loomed over me, larger than I remembered, and I wondered how she was manipulating her shadow to look so intimidating.

But vamps didn’t have powers like that, did they? Speed, yes. Mind control, yes. Ethereal beauty, yes.

Most forms of magick came from tangible things: blood, earth, metal. And the vamps’ undead nature forbade them from reaping strength from these elements in any real way.

Certain things might have escaped my notice while I fought for my life: her tall stature, for one. Or the sculpted precision of her features.

In a moment of foolishness, several not-quite-memories came rushing forward.

Scenes from books I adored, stills from movies that had haunted me.

They were a blur of sensations—fear, shock, terror, and yes, maybe even lust—but the vision of this vamp fit so neatly into those moments.

A flash of fangs, a rumble of a growl, the crease of anger on otherwise perfectly smooth features.

“You don’t intimidate me,” I stated, wishing my words were a touch less breathy.

“Your heartbeat says otherwise.”

Prey— that’s what I was to this woman. A tasty little snack wrapped in winter gear .

But she wasn’t getting her hands on my blood. Not today. I had already done her a favor—more than anyone would have done given the fact that she’d tried to end my life.

“Goodbye.”

She didn’t move. When I stepped back into the safety of the covenstead, I didn’t spare her another glance.