I dropped to my knees and drove my fangs into his jugular, but before I could draw blood, he punched me in the side three times and threw me off.
“I’m going to teach you some fucking manners,” he snarled, mashing my face against the cold, dirty tile.
I glanced up, my heart banging against my chest as I realized my dagger was out of reach. When he kicked me in the back, it nudged me a little closer to the stall. I crawled on my forearms, pushing back the pain and gathering up my energy.
He gripped my ankle, so I flipped onto my back, twisting my leg out of his grasp. Small spaces limited a Mage from flashing around much, which leveled the playing field since they had to rely on their fighting skills. And as I’d come to find out, not every immortal knew how to fight.
When he came at me, I kicked him in the head, and he fell onto his left side. Once he was down, I executed a maneuver and scissored my legs around his neck, my knees bent, exerting as much force as possible. Before he could throw a punch, I gripped his left arm in a tight lock and then angled my body so my head was out of reach.
He thrashed as I delivered enough force to cut off the circulation above his neck. His knee jerked out a few times, but he couldn’t see where my head was. Then he tried to get up, but he was losing strength with every passing second.
When his body went limp, I didn’t hesitate. I released my hold and fell over him, puncturing into his artery with my fangs and drawing out the blood before he knew what had hit him. After enough swallows, I licked his wound. My Vampire gifts allowed me to change the chemistry in my saliva at will so that I could seal up bite marks left behind on my victims.
I rose to my feet and staggered around him, my stomach churning as his blood made its way down. The thought of having to consume his Mage energy made me tremble with revulsion.
A gust of fresh air blew in when the bathroom door swung open, and an older blonde halted in her tracks. “Oh… Oh my God.”
I glimpsed myself in the mirror and saw blood trickling down my lip.
“He attacked me. Call the police,” I said, panic rising in my voice. I reached in the stall for my dress, folding it over my dagger.
Holy crap, this was a hot mess.
The woman’s fingers were tapping on her phone, dialing a number. A night in the slammer would keep this bozo out of trouble for now, but that meant letting him live another day to commit crimes. What choice did I have?
I bristled at the thought that people would die if I didn’t finish him off, but I needed to get out of there. If the human police arrested me, I wouldn’t have anyone to post my bail. The higher authority kept an eye on all arrests, matching them with Breed aliases and bailing them out within a certain time frame. As a rogue, I didn’t have an alias.
“Hello? We need the police, and… Do you need an ambulance?” she asked me, her eyes brimming with concern.
“No, I’ll drive myself to the hospital,” I said in a hoarse voice, pushing past her. “He beat me up, and he’s drunk. I can’t believe this is happening.” My voice broke as I pretended to cry, and I moved swiftly past her through the club.
Out the door.
Through the rain.
Down the alley.
I ran until I finally collapsed behind a Dumpster, sheltered from the rain by a one-foot overhang and a sympathetic breeze.
Chapter 3
It tookme two days to get on my feet again. Not just from consuming vile blood from two thugs, but drinking up dark Mage light. The only place I could find to sleep was inside an abandoned Dumpster in an alley. Since no one was using it for trash disposal, it didn’t smell, but I still had to throw out a few old boards. At least it kept the rain off my head.
In the evenings, rain hammered against the metal lid and kept me awake with only my thoughts to pass the time. When the bruises began to heal up on their own, I ventured out in search of a newspaper, but I didn’t find any articles about a murdered club owner or a building fire.
That Darius guy must have realized that someone knew about his plan, and executing it meant putting himself at risk. His henchman knew what I looked like, so I wasn’t taking any chances with walking the streets in the Breed district.
The rain eventually tapered off and the temperature cooled down, making it the kind of night when you could see a trail of frosty breath on a hurried walk home. I brushed the dirt off my coat and headed to a human diner called Ruby’s. It stood out on the corner of the intersection with its red neon sign. I only came in on Tuesdays because that was when business was slow and Betty worked a double shift. Betty McGuire was seventy-eight, tough as nails, and still dyed her hair red. I had to admire a woman with six grandchildren, two great-grandchildren, and a soft spot for girls like me who didn’t have a place to go.
There was a small parking lot in front and along the right side of the building. The inside had an L-shaped layout since the kitchen was hidden in a room behind the counter. Rotating pie displays and old-fashioned décor added a nostalgic touch. You could either order something to go at the front counter or find a seat and have a waitress take your order. There were a few small tables and booths to the left of the door, but usually the only people who used them where those waiting for takeout. Chrome barstools with red vinyl seats ran along the counter, which went to the right and then stretched halfway to the back where the seating area was. Some people liked sitting at the small round tables in the middle, but I preferred the privacy of the booths alongside the windows. Ruby’s was the kind of place you could peacefully sit and enjoy a cup of coffee on a rainy day.
I headed toward the back and chose my favorite booth, shoving my bag beneath the table and against the wall before dusting off the red vinyl seat. Despite how much I loved Ruby’s, it was always a shameful walk to the back. I felt like a stray dog with its tail between its legs, coming in to beg for scraps.
Betty spotted me from behind the counter and waved. She deserved a gold star for heroism, and I hoped her children appreciated her half as much as I did. She always brought me a hot meal, whether I wanted it or not, and took it out of her own paycheck. Knowing that, I only came in as a last resort.
Fifteen minutes later, my stomach was doing a happy dance. Steam rose from my coffee cup as I finished off my last chicken strip, and I turned my attention out the window, watching two birds splashing around in a puddle.
When someone entered the diner, I glanced up at a silver-haired fox of a man walking through the door. He looked old enough to be my father. His hair, combed back in a soft wave, had dark grey undertones that gave him even more character. His beard was nicely groomed, longer around the chin and mouth area. I often wondered what I would have looked like as an older woman if I hadn’t stopped aging at twenty-five.
