I remembered how tiny and frangible she was then. The faintest of wind could have easily whisked her far away.
But she wasn’t tiny anymore. She was taller now, curves fuller, beauty sharpened. Though, there was still that fragile shimmer in her, like she may as well break apart if held too tight. And that sounded perfect to do. After all, pretty things were meant to be broken.
“Sorry, did you notice any book here when you came?” she asked softly.
Her eyes held fascination. But beneath that veil of sheer attraction, there was fear. She was smitten by me, yet afraid of me. Fear and awe twisted into something delicious. It would be perfect to have her for dinner–on her knees, tears in those fucking eyes, begging, bleeding…all for me.
“No.” I shook my head, my voice slightly strained as my finger curled around my cup, the porcelain cold against my skin.
“Let’s ask Chopper,” the blond boy I unintentionally pushed into the shadow said, his blue eyes regarding me with suspicion. Yes, pretty boy, I’m the goddamn devil. Run along, why don’t you?
“Okay,” the prey–sorry, the girl murmured, then sharply turned away and followed the boy.
I watched her go, that unsatisfied, frustrated feeling whenever a kill slipped through my fingers clawing at my chest.
I tried to force my eyes away, but they just wouldn’t budge. As if feeling observed, she glanced back, but turned away quickly the moment our eyes clashed.
She wasn’t mine to kill. I wasn’t here to hunt.I kept telling myself. Yet as they stood by the counter, speaking to the curly-haired barista, I drank her in with a captivation that I reserved only for beautiful tragedies.
The barista disappeared into the back room, only to reappear a few seconds later with a book. Her lips moved as she murmured athank you, snatching the book from the barista’s hand.
Her friend and her turned away from the counter, ready to go.
It felt like a subconscious action, an old habit she couldn’t curb, when again, she glanced at me, this time, allowing her gaze to linger, cheeks flushed red, and the fear? Still there.
Fuck me.
”Here I thought you were into dark-haired men,” the boy murmured in a teasing tone as he gently nudged her toward the door.
“He’s kind of pretty.” She shrugged, pushing through the door. “Like a doll.”
I couldn’t help a twitch in my jaw at the measured insult. How dare she compare me to something so temporary and frangible, when kings would fall and empires would rot, but I would remain?
I was no doll. I was a deity.
I was a god.
This angelic face that simply deceived her wasn’t mine. This skin, this appearance, this fucking voice. None of them were mine. This was a borrowed body…my brother’s body. BecauseI was a ghost who refused to stay buried. In my truest form, I made the devil cower away in fear. Yet she mistook me for something so weak when I carved death into people’s bones for a living.
Through the transparent door, I watched her go, every gentle step of hers echoing her softness and fragility. And I couldn’t help it still when the familiar hunger continued to pulse in my veins, a torment in my mind.
My fingers itched, my body trembling with the raw starvation, the need to bleed, to break, to destroy.
But this wasn’t what I came here for. My purpose was not to hunt for a new game. I came to tighten loose ends so Callan wouldn’t have to grumble for exceeding my time. A little piece offering for using his precious body to spill blood and drag people through mud….literally.
I settled back into my chair and took another sip of my coffee. The unskilled assassin was still patiently waiting for perfect timing. A sinister smile graced my lips.
I glanced around the room, my gaze drifting to the counter, watching the barista disappear into the backroom. A handwritten‘Back in 10 minutes’ sign was perched on the counter.
I stole another glance at the rest of the patrons. They were still engrossed in whatever they were doing on their phones, some still reading a damn book.
How perfect the timing was. No one would see me enter the restroom. And hopefully, no one would see me come out, too.
I ran my fingers through the frosty hair on my head, then stood, pushing the chair backward. I veered for the restroom, my steps slow and unhurried. Though nearly soundless, I felt it, the assassin’s boots against the hardwood floor almost immediately.
I scoffed at the killer’s predictability. For a hired man, he really lacked skills. If he wasn’t bound to die today, I would have taught him a few tricks to this game.
As I reached the restroom, the door swung shut behind me.
