When the door finally creaked open again, I had just managed to drag myself onto the lumpy sofa.
Scarlett stepped in limping. Her balance wavered, her right eye blackened, and the side of her face swollen. A fresh cut bled down her forehead, and she winced as she moved. She tried to smile, but her eyes—those tranquil, earthy eyes—were wide with pain and fear.
Rage ignited in my gut.
“Who did this to you?” I demanded.
Scarlett hesitated. Her eyes dropped, and her shoulders folded inward, as if she wanted to disappear into herself. The silence stretched, heavy and brittle.
“It’s fine,” she whispered. “My ex… he got mad. Thought I was seeing someone else. I’m fine.”
She wasn’t fine. Her eye was nearly swollen shut. A cut still wept blood across her temple. Fury ignited inside me, cold and precise. Before I could respond, a violent pounding rattled the door.
“Scarlett! Open up!” a voice slurred from outside. “Iknowhe’s in there!”
Scarlett turned to me, pale. “Go hide,” she said, her voice shaking.
I didn’t move. I was not some fragile thing that cowered in corners. I was darkness. I was wrath. And I would prove it.
I rose from the couch and wrenched the door with a thunderous slam.
A brute stood on the threshold, reeking of liquor and rage. Hiseyes landed on me, and his face twisted into something vile. “See?” he sneered. “Bitch! Iknewit. You’ve got a man in there.”
I crossed the distance in a breath.
My hand clamped around his throat, lifting him into the air like a rag doll. His feet kicked and scraped uselessly against the doorframe as I pulled him into the apartment. His face shifted from fury to sheer terror.
“You fucking piece of filth,” I hissed. “You dare put your hands on a woman? You dare raise your voice in this home?”
His face turned purple. His mouth flapped like a dying fish, but no sound came out.
Scarlett screamed behind me. “Balthazar, stop! He’s drunk! He’s not worth it!Please!”
“There’s no excuse,” I growled. “Not for what he did to you.”
I slammed the door behind me and dragged him into the alley.
The bins overflowed with rotting waste and broken glass. Fitting.
There, beneath the streetlight, I ended him.
His dark and weak spirit tried to resist as I inhaled it. A surge of power ripped through my veins—cleansing, vital.
I tossed the body into the dumpster like discarded trash and stared up at the stars, my breath heaving in my chest.
I was still the darkness—still the blade in the night. And now, I remembered exactly what I was capable of.
When I returned, Scarlett was in the cramped toilet room, blotting the blood from her face with a damp cloth. She wouldn’t look at me.
“What did you do to him?” she asked, her voice tight.
“That man won’t be a problem anymore,” I said flatly. “I had a word with him. Let’s just say I made itveryclear he wouldn’t be coming back.”
“Youwhat?” Scarlett froze, the cloth dripping in her hand.
“It was just a warning,” I lied. “A threat. Nothing more.”
Silence stretched between us, thick and uneasy.
