That was the thing about vampires. They were predators, but they didn’t always need fangs to draw blood. Sometimes, all it took was looking at you like that. Like they saw you.
My fingers tightened on the knife hilt.
Then I saw the empty glass bottles scattered around him, smeared with blood. His hands were stained with it, shaking. He looked more ghost than predator.
And for the briefest, stupidest heartbeat, I thought of Declan.
Declan, pale and snarling in that forest, Donovan standing between us, saying he loved him. Saying it like the world wasn’t about to fall apart around us.
The same fear in this vampire’s eyes. The same fragile, human terror. Something inside me snapped. I lunged.
He gasped, stumbling backward, knocking over one of the bottles. It shattered, blood splattering dark against the floorboards. I slashed for his throat. The cut was clean, quick, efficient.
The motion was muscle memory, drilled into me by years of training.
But he was faster than he looked. He twisted aside, the blade slicing air where his neck had been. His shoulder hit the wall with a thud, eyes wide.
“Wait. Please?—”
I didn’t wait. I went for him again.
Anger roared through me, hot and bitter. Every ounce of humiliation, every sneer from the Guild, every night I’d drowned in liquor instead of sleep.
All of it focused into the swing of my knife. I wasn’t just killing a vampire. I was killing every reminder of what I’d lost. He ducked low, my knife grazing his arm.
He hissed, pain flashing across his face. Then, instead of fighting back, he retreated. The vampire raised his hands, backing toward the corner.
“I don’t want trouble,” he said, voice shaking. “Please.”
That voice. It wasn’t monstrous. It wasn’t even threatening. It was scared. I hesitated, just a breath, just enough time for the silence to rush in around us.
He was panting, clutching his arm where dark and sluggish blood welled from the cut. His chest heaved. He looked extremely weak, it was laughable.
“You’re a vampire,” I said, the words harsh and breathless. “You shouldn’t even bleed like that.”
“I’m not…” He winced. “I mean, I am, but not like?—”
“Not like what?” I snapped.
His throat worked. “Not like the ones you hunt.”
I laughed, ugly and hollow. “You think that line’s new? I’ve heard it a hundred times before.”
“It’s the truth.” His voice cracked. “I haven’t hurt anyone. I feed on animals. Please. I’m not your enemy.”
The knife trembled in my hand. I wanted to laugh again, to sneer, to drive the blade home and end this pathetic conversation. That’s what the Guild had taught me.
Don’t listen. Don’t hesitate. Hesitation gets you killed.
But the problem was, I had hesitated once, when Donovan said those words in the forest.I love him, Kit.And I’d lost everything.
Now here I was again, knife in hand, staring at another vampire with the same damned look in his eyes. I took a step closer, just one. He flinched, pressing back against the wall.
“Name,” I said.
His lips parted. “Simon.”
Simon. The name didn’t fit. It was too plain, too human. Maybe that was the point. It sat in the room between us like a dare, a thumbtack I couldn’t pull out.
