But no.I will not be prey.
If I am going to die tonight, then I’m going to do my damnedest to take him with me.
I do the only thing I can in this moment: I lunge up and bite his neck, clamping my teeth hard enough to break skin. I know mó have physical sensations, just as we do, and pain is one of them.
The mó shouts a curse and jerks back, but I go with him. I bite down harder, sinking my teeth in with all the hatred for his kind that I have. For all the deaths, all the half-eaten bodies and devoured souls and burned villages. For my father. For my mother. For the childhood stolen from Méi’zi.
I hold on, waiting for his ichor to sear my tongue, for its slow poison to seep into my body.
His skin is warm against my lips. He tastes of sweat, salt, and wind…and slowly, trickling into my mouth, is a familiar-tasting, hot coppery liquid.
I blink. It can’t be.
Demons don’t bleed. They don’t have blood.
Which means—
I release him, coughing as his blood swirls on my tongue. My captor groans out another curse, and when my head falls back against the grass, I see my teeth marks on the side of his neck…and the fresh red blood dripping from the wound.
My captor shifts so that he is gripping both my wrists with a single hand. He swipes the other at the blood on his neck and stares at his palm for a moment. Then he looks at me in disbelief. “Youbitme.”
“You’re not a mó,” I gasp.
He swears under his breath again, then leaps up with a fluid lightness to his movements that I have seen in my father…and in other practitioners.
Skies. Did I just assault and…bitea practitioner?
“Observant of you, considering I’m not the one going around taking chunks of flesh out of people,” he says, but the disbelief in his eyes is replaced by an edge of laughter as he flicks his gaze to me again. “Ten hells, thathurt.”
My cheeks heat, but I don’t have time for embarrassment and I’m not in the mood to apologize. I scramble to my feet much less gracefully than he did, then spit out the rest of his blood and wipe my mouth.
“What happened here?” I look around, my stomach roiling at the sight of the bodies strewn so carelessly. There are many monsters, ghouls, and spirits that roam the mountains and untamed lands of the mortal realm, but few known to kill us like this. No, the wounds on the victims are singular and clean, resembling the single slice of a blade.
Whatever did this didn’t do it to feast.
I count eight dead, and my heart sinks. Eight practitioners from the Kingdom of Rivers slain before the sun has set. Eight mortal lives taken from our ever-diminishing numbers.
My former captor folds his arms. “First you assault me, then youbiteme, and now you accuse me of murder. Manners, little scorpion.”
I shift my blades in my palms, uncertain how to respond. I don’t remember the last time I made a joke. And I certainly don’t know anyone who would remain so cavalier when surrounded by death or facing the possibility of an imminent death.
“Why are you here?” I ask. If he was looking for the convoy as well, then dragons curse me, for he could have made a good ally. Until I accidentally tried to kill him.
He gives a deep chuckle. “Oh, for the fun of it. What more is there to life than wandering a bloody forest at night, surrounded by demons and getting stabbed and bitten by ill-mannered young maidens?”
I almost want to stab him again, but I settle for a frown. “You’re not dressed to travel,” I say, my eyes flicking to his crimson cloak, bright against the night that has begun to drape its shadows over us and the bamboo forest.
“Neither are you.” His gaze skims my throat, my chest, down to the waist, and snaps back up to my face. “Clever. Dress as a chaste maiden in silks to lower their defenses and lure them in, then cut out their hearts before they know it.”
I know he is mortal and I know he is a practitioner, but I still tense as he takes a step closer, then another. My village has largely remained safe from the aftermath of the invasion,but I’ve heard tales of how desperation brought out the ugliest, cruelest parts of humans.
“Demons don’t have hearts.” I raise my blades just slightly and bare my teeth. When he stops his approach, a pleasant twinge of power courses through my veins.
“Oh, I wouldn’t be so certain.”
“I’ve killed enough to know.”
His smile widens. “My outfit is a disguise, much like yours,” he continues, answering my earlier question. His hands are slightly raised, as though to signal peace. “The brightest and most beautiful flowers are the most poisonous. Most would think twice about attacking me.” He raises an eyebrow and fixes me with a pointed look.“Most.”
