by Rebecca Grey
“Did he do that to you, love?” The Elf leans closer, mocking concern etched in his eyes. “If you can take me to him, I’d gladly share a word or two on your behalf.”
“You think I need a pirate to represent me? You’re less trustworthy than the criminals that call this place home.” Anger warms my cheeks. Oh, how I want to right my mistake. But killing him now with all these witnesses would only be signing my own death certificate. “What sort of favor did Mr. Genovese do for you? I must know. Did he pay for this pretty little outfit of yours? Help you redecorate your ship? Hmm?”
With a snort the Elf leans away. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Clearly I do, because I ask—”
Before the comment could leave my lips, a bloodcurdling scream cuts through the wild bar scene. Bodies freeze, turning to follow the noise as a Vampire stumbles away from the bathroom, horror etching her features. Now she knows, they all know, exactly who is in their midst tonight.
My lips twitch upward. That’s my cue.
I would see the Elf again. I would right my mistake, but that would have to wait. This is no longer the time or the place to end his life. Roughly, I tug my hood lower over my face and calmly walk out of the bar. Frantic footfalls and loud gasps become muffled as I close the door behind me.
Cold evening air burns against my cheeks. Clouds of my hot breath rise in front of me as I laugh out loud. Every kill is a thrill and getting away with the murder is always my favorite part. Gravel crunches under my boots as I start forward into the night.
A few other businesses on the street have minimal lights glowing inside. Signs stating their closure hang crooked in the dirt streaked windows. A tall metal pole, an old street sign, bends at a sharp right angle under a flickering street lamp. Genovese paid good money for a street lamp outside his bar.
The swinging of the door and the two thudding boots cut my victory laugh short. With a whirl I turn to face the creature who has followed me out. Rocks scatter away from my boots with the movement.
“You were supposed to kill me, weren’t you?” The Elf says, sliding his hands casually into his pockets. “You are who they call ‘The Ghost’.”
I have heard the name before. A silly nickname for the person behind the killings in The Bend that never gets caught. I hate it because I hate everything that the Orcs, Elves, or Vampires create. However I also love it, because the name strikes fear into these creatures who value their lives above those of the Purists.
My fingers itch to gather my daggers and run him through right here. Still, the doorway to the bar is just too open for killing. Self-control and Patience will be the Saints that get me through this night.
“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about,” I school my features into confusion.
The Elf leans closer, his nostrils visibly flaring as he sniffs the air. Realization dawns on his face first, then a smug smirk twists his lips. “The scent on that cloak you stole is fading, Human. You are pure.”
Fear rallies in the pit of my stomach, making my legs tingle with numbness. I am usually more careful about leaving before the scent that masks my dreadfully Human aroma wears off. But tonight, I had made a mistake. No, not one mistake but two. I killed the wrong man, then I had stopped to make conversation with the Elf that should be dead.
“Shouldn’t you be trading your stolen goods, or sailing off to Saints know where?” I try, lifting my chin and squaring my shoulders. I will not be ashamed of what I am. Fear is a choice, and I will choose not to succumb to it.
“It’s rude of you to assume I’m a pirate,” the Elf says again, his steps smooth as he begins circling me. “You know not all Elves are pirates.”
“But all pirates are Elves, so the odds aren’t in your favor.” I step out in front of him, halting the lap he’s making around me and face him directly. “Who is your captain?”
I know one too many pirate captains. I wouldn’t admit it to this stranger but I often traded down at the docks. Be it trades made with stolen goods or a bounty on someone’s head, I always get what I want.
“I am.” He winks.
What a fool. Anger at his antics grows within me by the second. Soon I won’t care whether he dies publicly or in the privacy of his own ship.
“I’ve never met you before.”
I pick apart his appearance. His hands look smooth, not rough enough for years of work pulling at rigging and handling swords like a pirate would. His posture… too perfect.
“There was a mutiny on the ship. I am the new captain.” He gives me a mocking bow. “The name is Marcello Torres.”
I flinch. I don’t need to know his name. I don’t want to know his name. If I know it and kill him, I’ll have to write his name down in the little leather-bound journal I keep between the floor and my mattress. It had been Arron’s idea, before he had passed. Some annoying ritual meant to keep me tied to my humanity.
It’s morbid. But I made the promise to my friend and in his death, I’d continued to do so. Still, if I could get away with murder and not have any knowledge of the creature’s name, there is no need to touch the book. A loophole in my agreement, I reason with myself.
“You know, Ghost,” he teases me, “I could kill you right now if I wanted to. Your fragile Human body would crumple easily.” Just as quick as his words had turned menacing, he lifts his hands up playfully. “I won’t, because I would like to strike up a deal with you.”
“Go ahead, underestimate me. That’ll surely be loads of fun.” I narrow my gaze. “Listen, if you are going to try to make a plea for your life, it will not work on me.” I spit at his feet, not bothering to hide my hatred.
“I’m going to make a plea for a better life,” he corrects, “Come follow, tiny Human.” He walks forward, only glancing to see if I would follow when he is nearly twenty feet away. He sighs reaching for a jacket that hangs over an old rusted barrel across the street. Marcello shrugs himself into the jacket, which can only be described as plush, hot pink, faux fur. It’s a miracle the item wasn’t stolen in the first place. You can’t just leave things lying around here. This Elf, Marcello, has a plethora of Luck on his side tonight.
I remain under the flickering street lamp that puts the door of the bar under a spotlight. If he is going to kill me for the bounty on my head for playing the part of The Ghost, he would have little chance of getting away with it.
“Your bargaining will do you little good, but I’ll allow you to continue. I could use the entertainment anyway.” I let myself look bored. My posture eases into a gentle slouch as I pick at my clean nails.
On the cusp of a breath, Marcello goes from being twenty feet away to twenty inches. The sudden movement causes me to inhale sharply as my arms fall to my belt.
“I want you to be on my team for The Oasis Games.” His saucy grin turns feral. The once shining silver of his eyes turns completely white, making his cat-like pupils look like the never-ending heavens. He’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. I hate him for that even more.
I give a little chuckle at first. This has to be a joke. No Human had ever entered the tournament. It’s created for paranormal creatures, Hybrids, not for me. When Marcello’s face remains straight and serious, I fold over with laughter.
I only right myself as a Vampire leaves the bar, walking at an angle from his near delirious stupor. Marcello reaches into his pocket. Quick as a whip, I have a dagger out and pointed at him. But all he pulls from his pink jacket is two small pieces of paper.
“I wondered where you were hiding your weapons.”
“How did you get those?” I sneer. “You have to go through rounds of interviews and physical training before they pick for the tournament. They haven’t even finished the second draft.”
“Let’s just say I have my ways.” He beams with pride. “One for me and one for you.”
“I don’t want to play in the games,” I say slowly, lowering the blade and sheathing it. “Joining The Oasis Games is a death sentence.”
“Unless you win.” Marcello points out.
“Not likely.”
I don’t like the bubble of hope that clouds my judgement. Winning The Oasis Games means receiving an excessive amount of money as well as being given a home over the wall, where royalty lives. It would be nice not to live in a rotting building shared with other mercenaries.
I’d been into The Oasis before. Snuck over its wall and killed the waiting guard. The streets were what I’d always dreamed them to be, based off the crumbling ones in The Bend. Each house was taken care of and some are three or four stories high. Each home held a single family, and I bet they didn’t have to fight off another family to claim it.
There is more to a place than perfect homes and functional streets, but The Bend feels like home. It’s always been home. On a good day, I am just as bad as any other criminal that lives here. This is my place.
“No,” I say, with a shrug, pushing past Marcello to head home before the safety of the cloak’s scent completely wears off.
Marcello doesn’t pursue me. His shouts chase me though. “My boat, The Genevieve will be leaving the docks tomorrow to head toward the games. We leave at noon. You have until then to decide.”
“My answer is still no!” I toss him an obscene gesture Arron would not have approved of over my shoulder.
The answering laughter follows me into the night even after I know Marcelo is gone, an echo of my mistakes haunting me down the streets toward my home.
I like to season my conversations with colorful words. Like fuck. Admitting that, fuck this entire day. Fuck this entire night, too. Dim lights are on in the old building, calling me back home. Fuck those lights. Lights are always on. I can’t even sleep without a bit of fucking light coming in from under my doorway.
I let out a long breath, finally pulling my hood from my face to relish the breeze that lifts my hair. My gaze strays to the rubble of buildings long gone. With the moon high in the sky, young Hybrids, a few Orcs, a Dwarf, and a couple Fauns kick around a large ball. Their laughter carries over to me.
A light smile teases at my lips. I’ll likely fall asleep to the sound of children playing tonight. They don’t seem to care that they have nothing but a single ball and the large broken stones to play with. The Bend isn’t anything but home to them. They’re too young to know any different. And that alone is beautiful. What I wouldn’t give to be like them again. Young and naive. If I’d ever been those things at all.
An Elf kicks the ball and it bounces off a rock and rolls onto my path. They don’t know I’m Human. Or if they do they simply don’t care. Jogging the last few steps, I kick the ball with the tip of my toes, sending it back their direction. They giggle again, only one of them daring enough to say ‘thank you’ to the mercenary bound for her coven.
In my head, I’m counting the days, trying to picture them on the calendar. Yes, today is what I think it is. What I’ve hoped it is. It’s what I need it to be. So I peel my attention away from the children and continue down the long path.
Joss, the Vampire that leads our particular coven of mercenaries, should be returning from his latest job today. He’ll be waiting for me. An eager feeling swirls low inside my stomach. My shoulders throb with tension, ready to be released.
Crumbling concrete shifts underneath my feet as I follow the cracked sidewalk to the broken-down building. Decaying brick has become little more than dust on the left side of the roof, leaving the upper level exposed to the elements. But a broken home is better than none. I wouldn’t want to imagine what living exposed to the creatures and thugs of The Bend would be like. Not good.
The hinges of the door practically scream as I enter. One way to ensure that everyone here knows any time someone comes or goes. All eyes shift to me. Only a few of the other mercenaries are lingering downstairs. To my left the table of a few men and one other woman turn from their card game long enough to nod at me. To my right a static-filled TV plays whatever old Human disks have most recently been found on an eternal loop. When I have time, I’ll sit and watch them.
I look past the plaster that’s peeling off the walls and the molding that’s seen better days, to meet the fire-filled gaze of my coven leader. Joss’s attention drifts back to the corkboard in front of him. I can’t help but admire his flawless skin and the way it holds a youthful glow. His cheeks are always kissed with a hint of a blush, his lips a near matching tone.
Delicately, he runs his finger over the corkboard with pinned jobs for hire. He plucks a paper from the board and rolls it up, sticking it into the back pocket of his jeans. He's all I can watch. I try to tame my breathing as he shifts on silent feet. Scuffed black jeans hang loosely from his lean hips, a leather vest made of all different shades of the material has throwing stars tucked into the straps. Each piece of clothing is cut to fit his body like a glove.
Glowing red eyes travel from my worn boots, up my leather pants, and to the smallest amount of cleavage shown by the buttons I undid on my way home. He grins. The small action reveals two large and very sharp canines. Without lowering my gaze, I undo the buckle of my belt and pull my knives off of me. I loop the belt in my hands, clutching my weapons near me.
“Rough day?” The words roll off his lips like a drug. He arches a thick eyebrow under the shag of his bleach blonde hair.
“You haven’t the slightest idea.” I don’t want to talk about today. I don’t want to think about my waiting mistake or the lingering offer he proposed. I don’t want to do anything but feel.
Joss takes deliberate steps, gliding across the old boards without a sound. I’ve learned to walk with that same grace too, smooth and quiet steps, despite it not coming naturally. I watch his tongue run out over his bottom lip, in anticipation of my taste.
His long fingers tangle through my sandy blonde hair, fisting a handful behind me. He pulls without care of the hurt. I cock my head with the movement, refusing to flinch. Joss lowers his lips to my ear. Every word is hot and damp down my neck.
“I am going to fuck you, and then you’re going to suck me off.”
I can’t help my growing smile. Or the wetness that seeps between my legs. He pulls away, taking in the scent of what’s dripping just for him.
“Answer me,” he hisses, tightening his grip on my hair.
“Yes, sir,” I purr.
Joss tosses the other room a glance. None of them bother to lift their heads from their game. Joss has always taken what he wants from the mercenaries here. It’s what we understand when we sign up. Partially, because I am a Purist, Joss waited many years for me to mature before he ever laid a hand on me. He prowled at a distance, not bothering to get to know me until days after my eighteenth birthday.
It had bothered me then. Someone else had taught me to fight. Someone else had helped me train my Human eyes to catch the movement of things that anyone else would not have noticed. I’d always been put under someone else’s charge to learn and grow into a valuable mercenary. But everyone knew Joss typically does that job. I’d thought he hated me. Turns out he just prefers his women to be of age, whatever their race.
Nearly a week after my eighteenth birthday, I’d come to know exactly what Joss wanted from me. I’d been helplessly addicted ever since.
My feet keep up evenly with the tilt of my upper body as Joss pulls me by my hair into the closest room. His office. He doesn’t mess with the light as he rushes us in and slams the door behind us. The force of it blows my cloak around my back. I drop my belt as gently as I can against the floor.
With one pointed nail, Joss pulls at the string around my throat. Before the fabric of the cloak hits the ground, his lips press into mine with such force my teeth ache. He tilts my head, opening my kisses to him. Like sugar, his kisses taste sweet.
He rips his mouth from mine, pulling me across the room. I hear him hum as I gasp and stumble behind him. In the dark all I can do is touch, feel, listen and try to remember the layout of the room. His immortal Vampire eyes do not need the light, bu
t my much too Human eyes do. He knows I’m blind and he relishes in that fact.
The grip he holds on my hair disappears as he stops. I wobble on my toes for less than a second before his fingers wrap around my throat, pulling me in for another kiss. In comparison, his kiss from moments ago felt almost gentle. This kiss, this kiss is primal. His teeth dig into my lip, piercing the flesh. Narrowly, he avoids my scar. I bleed for him. When he swipes his tongue over my lip and tangles it with mine, my body unwinds.
Here with Joss, I don’t need to make any decisions. I don’t need to hold onto my protective exterior. I don’t need to pretend to care or not to care. I just am. And that’s enough.
“You’ve been with someone else while I was gone?” he says against me. Blood drips down my chin and he chases it with his tongue. The heat of his words as they travel against my skin sends a shiver down to my core.
I had. I hadn’t been willing to wait for him to return for his job that lasted more than a couple weeks. It was a frenzied fling in a restaurant’s bathroom, not too unlike the one I’d mistakenly killed in tonight. The man had been as handsome as a Hybrid could be, but he was too gentle with me. And Joss and I are not necessarily exclusive.
“Yes.”
“You’ll be punished for it.” He squeezes my throat harder, breath struggling to reach my lungs. “I can still smell him on you.”
“Yes,” I reply, but it’s just a wheezing gasp for air.
My body jolts forward and I land face down on what I realize is his solid oak desk. Both palms slap against the wood, making my hands burn with the force. Joss’ body is on me, his teeth sinking into my neck. The room seems to shift as his jaw works against the open wound. He poisons my mind with each sip he takes. Pleasure, a blissful euphoria that relaxes every muscle in my body follows.
Both his arms wrap around me, his hands trailing down the front of my body over my breasts and down to my pants. He unbuttons them. The burning sensation of his teeth comes free from my throat only so he can push my pants down my legs.