Monday September 22nd 2014

Alexandra captured him from the moment she walked in the cafeteria. A tiger slipping through prey, her steps were insurmountable strength wedded to supernatural grace. The lightness of feet spoke of violence held by the thinnest of leashes, a killer in a world of meat. She was already down a few glitter girls, the storm that swirled around her savaging the weak. Her friends were in an impossible place, forced to pick between the vampire and the school.

They took their seats at the table Alexandra had claimed for her own. The vampire bowed her head over her clasped hands for the first time. Everything stopped. The table went silent, words strangled by her action, laughter turning to ashes in the air. Shock and fear swam through their eyes at the brazenness of the act. A brush fire of whispering spread in ripples from Alexandra's table as the news filled the room.

Father of all.

I give thanks for this meal.

Bless us and bless our food, let our every thought and deed bring glory to your name.

Through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Amen”

“Amen.” Cesare’s words drew the hate to him, a lightning rod thrust into a storm at sea. Furious eyes of bleeding rage that had focused on Alexandra whipped to him with singular passion.

He was half way across the cafeteria when Blaez's pack surrounded him. Cesare gave a quick look to Anastasia as they cut off any escape. Holding her attention, Blaez watched from over her shoulder as his dogs pinned him in place.

“So, shit stain’s a Christian now?” the boy to his side said.

“Naw. He just wants that blond pussy, that's all. You know what they say about Christians, they got pussy's tight as clenched fists.” It was a boy at his back.

“Is that what you’re trying to do, get some vampire pussy?” The boy was pushing into his space, not yet ready to fight but working up to it with each breath.

Long limbed with sharp faces, they had the builds of runners, meat burned off their bodies for rangy frames born to chase. There was a cold knowing in their eyes, they’d fought and bled before, taken down bigger prey than him and feasted on its flesh.

“Didn't know you dogs knew the big words. Do you roll over too?” They went rigid, shock turned to fury. A gathering rumble thrummed through the air, echoing and magnified by each member of the pack. Their eyes flashed golden as they leaned forward as one. A menacing growl from behind them stilled their movement, shoulders slumped, a subtle tilt of the head baring their throats.

Blaez’s growl rose above theirs, submerging them in its dominant strength. It wasn’t a command but the bared threat of extreme violence. Ducking their heads, the pack broke their encirclement, flowing into place behind their Alpha. Glaring at Cesare, they paced restlessly behind Blaez.

“You must have gotten under their skin. What did you say?” Blaez said with hard eyes and a false smile.

“They're scared I might be Christian, and I was surprised they knew the word. I thought they only knew sit, stay, and play dead.” Blaez’s eyes flared as he took a step closer, muscles jumped under his uniform as he fought to master himself. Even he wasn’t stupid enough to lose it with everyone watching.

Blaez reigned in his anger. “Well, are you?

“Am I what?” A smile played across Cesare's lips.

Blaez clenched his teeth, biting off the low growl that rumbled from his chest. “You’re not worth it today. But don’t worry, one day you will be.” Pivoting, he went back to Anastasia's table, his pack falling in step behind him.

No one was talking about Alexandra saying grace. Now they were focused on him being a Christian and the potential fight with Blaez. But all he’d bought her was time.

Cesare knew Alexandra would say grace tomorrow. The question was, why she’d started this fight. Alexandra had been careful not to bring attention to her faith. She hadn’t downplayed it, but she’d not thrown it in everyone’s face.

Cesare packed up his books as Miss Raven dismissed the class for lunch. Fitting the last book into his bag, he looked up to see Anastasia by the door, waiting for him.

“I wanted to ask if we could get an early start today?” Anastasia was careful not to meet his eyes.

It took brass balls to ask him to give up more time after she’d cut and ran on Friday. But she’d never lacked the balls to ask for what she wanted. The world was owned by the pretty and the rich … and she was both.

“I think it was clear where you stood. Why should I take it more seriously than you do?” The harem spread out behind her, blocking the door. Cesare's eyes darted over to where Elizabeth watched from behind her desk.

“Please.” Damn women and damn him for being weak. Reluctantly, Cesare nodded his agreement.

“Way to stick to your guns, cowboy.” Elizabeth laughed quietly. At least she'd waited until they’d left before throwing the jab.

“I'm a sucker for a pretty face. Besides, it's only a little early. I was going to meet her anyway,” Cesare said, pulling out a small origami raven from his bag. He’d spent a long time getting it right. It fit easily in his hand, paper wings sharp from creases, beak a point of uncompromising black, scarlet eyes glaring out at the world.

Elizabeth’s eyes locked on the small raven. “What's that?”

Cesare shrugged, uncomfortable at the moment he’d created. “Just something I made for you. Nothing much.” He set the small raven on the desk.

The raven stood on its little talons, glaring up at the towering giants that surrounded it. Elizabeth caressed a finger across its wing. “You shouldn't have Cesare. It's inappropriate for a student to give something like this to his teacher. You should give this to a girl you like. I'm sure Anastasia would be happy to receive it.” The words were forced as she caressed the black on black raven. Had any guy ever given her a gift when she was at school? Seeing the shadows of old memories on her face, he didn't think so.

“She'd be glad to get one - but not from me. She has Blaez to do that. As for inappropriate … I've seen a few of the guys give Ms. Falcov stuff.” Cesare turned for the door.

“You’re lying. You've never seen anyone give her something like this.” Elizabeth’s quiet words stopped him.

“No, I haven't. But I wanted you to have something from me. I wanted you to have something that would make you smile when you're eating lunch alone.” He wouldn’t take it back. She could throw it away if she didn't want it. It would kill him to see her throw the little raven into the trash, but that was better than denying how he felt.

“What makes you think I don't think of you anyway?” Elizabeth's teasing voice brought him around. Smiling, she held the raven in her palm. A shift of her hip accentuated her large ass and full breasts.

“Oh, I'm sure you do, whenever you take out the red pen.” They laughed, each taking a mental step back from the land mines they’d come too close to.

Anastasia was waiting outside the school for him. Anger and adrenaline surged through his body. Memories unfolded like a Matryoshka Doll; each one nestled inside the next. He thought of the times she’d watched as he was beaten, smiling as he drowned in blood and fear. It washed over him, shunted into the darkness of his soul, devoured by horrors beyond carefree beatings and taunts. The memories were nothing next to the abominations that had shaped him.

Anastasia watched him, sadness lurking at the edges of her dark eyes. “Maybe I should have waited at the training place.”

Cesare shrugged as they walked along together … at least until the harem cut them apart. It was their game, one they played with the world. Jealously possessive, they coveted closeness with a fanatic's hunger.

“I want to apologize for the way I acted on Friday. As soon as I left, I realized I’d made a mistake. But by then, it was too late,” Anastasia said.

“It's not like you're fighting a death match in a few weeks. Besides, I'm sure Blaez was thrilled you made it for your date.” Anastasia winced at Cesare’s jagged words.

“Okay, it was a fuck up. It won't happen again.” She continued hesitantly, “I was hoping we could meet up more often. Like you said, I have another match coming up and I need to be ready. I thought we could meet up every day and try out your ideas.”

“Let me get this straight. You dumped me for your boyfriend and now you want even more time?” Cesare said flatly.

“Yes.”

“Okay, but you don't fucking dump me again for dog breath. Ever. You do, and we’re done.” Anastasia shivered at his tone. There was no give in it, no empathy, and no compassion. Cesare would follow through on it even if it killed him or, more likely, her.

Anastasia sighed. “I thought it would be harder to convince you. I acted like a real bitch.”

“Normally, I’d tell you to kick rocks, but you’re fighting to the death in a few weeks. I won't cut you lose to die for being a bitch.” Cesare finished the statement with a meaningful look. He could let it go this time, but there wouldn’t be a second time.

“What was up with Blaez and you at lunch?” She’d taken her lumps, now she wanted to get as far from her fuck up as possible.

“He sent his pack to harass me. When they were about to get out of hand, he stepped in and started harassing me himself,” Cesare said without a look at the girl.

“He's not a bad guy. If you got to know him, you might actually like him,” Anastasia said quietly

“Yeah, he was a real peach when he was having me walk around in piss.” Anastasia grimaced at the bitter memory.

“He has to follow the rules ...” Anastasia started.

“Bullshit. Blaez follows the rules when he wants to and not one minute longer. Miss Raven would have given me a pass to go back and change. But by the time she knew anything had happened, it was too late.” Anastasia studied the ground, unwilling to chance meeting his eyes. “He's an asshole, Anastasia. I wouldn't cross the street to piss on him if he was on fire.”

Anastasia gave him a sidelong glance. “What do you have planned for today?”

Cesare let the irritation and, he was honest enough to admit, jealousy go. “Speed trials, to start. Then I have some accuracy drills to run you through. In between, we’re going to start you on meditations. What kind of advanced training would you be doing if you were at home?”

Anastasia picked her words slowly, dancing around secrets she’d never share with him. “The Ebon Flame is ... sacred to my people. The training of the Ebon Flame is done with an air of solemnity. We call them the Rites of the Flame. The way we train now is the way the first Harab Serapel trained. I learned to call the flame in a hermitically sealed room, the Womb of the Flame. In that silent darkness, we commune with the Ebon Flame, feeding its hunger with our flesh to learn it’s power. The Rites of the Flame demand pain and flesh, the sacrifices to enter the greater rites kill more than they make.”

Arriving at the training grounds, Anastasia looked over at him. “Do you want to have a go with the guys first?”

“No, let’s get you started. I'll spar with them while you’re meditating. Let’s start with speed drills,” Cesare said.

“Okay, let me get changed.” Anastasia started to unbutton her blouse. Cesare's eyes widened, captivated as she unbuttoned the white dress shirt. She was on the last one before Cesare found the will to turn away.

Anastasia laughed behind him. “I'm wearing a sports bra and shorts under this. Thought I’d give you a free show, huh? Well, if you play your cards right maybe we can work something out.”

“I don't think dog boy would like that. He might piddle on my leg or eat my homework,” Cesare said.

“I'm ready,” Anastasia said quietly, reading his tone.

A red sports bra shaped and contained her breasts. The creamy cleavage showing at the top wasn’t a lot, but it was more than he’d seen from her before. Her midriff was bare, pristine skin taut over etched abs. Clinging to her firm hips, the black workout shorts came down to mid-thigh. Her legs flexed as she shuffled anxiously under his eyes. Long, sleek, and strong, they were beautiful without a blemish to break the view.

“Damn, you always take my breath away.” Cesare turned away, feeling as stupid as everyone thought he was. Anastasia didn’t need another man drooling over her, and he didn’t need to hand her anymore blades to use against him.

He led Anastasia over to the targets. “Close your eyes and imagine what you’re going to do. From your hands coming up, to the motion of pushing them toward your target, visualize each step. Only when you have it in your mind, when you can see it in your head, feel it in your muscles, can you take the shot.

She nodded, hands down to her sides. They flashed up suddenly in a blur of milk, pale skin and black flame. Rope’s of saturated hate snapped forward, striking the target with a solid thump. “Put your hands down.” Dropping her hands, she relaxed back into the ready pose. “Close your eyes.”

He came up behind her and leaned in close. Corrupted heat washed over him, slick with disease, it crawled over his flesh, the smell of jasmine riding the wave. His whispers caressed across her ear. “See your hands, strong and powerful, flames surging and eager, seething under skin. Feel your shoulders, tense with worry and anticipation. Focus on them. This moment is all you have, a single grain of sand. Take it, feel yourself relaxing into this moment of nothing. Tension flows off your arms, running down into your hands and falling away. Shoulders loosen and drop as tension releases. Only this moment ... me and you ... only this shot matters, nothing before or after, only us and this one shot. No stress or worry, no tension or pain. Nothing in life but the here and now … with me.” The whisper transformed into a soothing song, darkness given words, velvet shades of midnight gentling the razored edges of the soul. Anastasia's shoulders loosened, dropping and rounding, her rigid hands relaxed into a half grip, breath evening out.

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“See the shot in your head, perfect and singular, nothing before or after, complete in and of itself. When I say … GO.” The command was no louder than a sigh. Her hands whipped up, fire snapped and hissed, hammering the target with a deep boom, splashing tongues of black flame across the ground.

Cesare looked at his watch, his voice still a whisper. “Good. Much faster. How did it feel?” Her long, red hair moved over his face in a feathery light caress. A slight flush rose across Anastasia’s cheeks.

She whispered her own words, the time and place demanding it of her. “Good. Centered. Peaceful.”

“That's how every shot should feel. Each shot is a moment of perfection, complete and whole. Put your hands down and close your eyes.” She followed his directions as he began the next set.

Sweat ran down her arms and face, heat blasting from her. It had been over an hour and he was still those few inches away from her back. He craved the softness of her body, knowing she'd flinch away from his touch, killed a part of him.

Cesare stepped back, ending the speed drills. “That's it. Sit. I'll get you some water and a towel.” Anastasia hit the ground in a slump, breath coming in harsh gasps.

Cesare locked his eyes on her face as he handed over the water and towel. “Meditate for an hour.” He tossed a recorder and ear phones onto her lap. “I thought if you wanted ... well, I recorded something for you.” Anastasia’s eyes widened in shock at the gift. “You don't have to listen to it. It's a dumb idea …” He quickly added as he reached for the recorder.

Quick as thought, she snatched it from under his hand in a blur. “No!” She continued with forced casualness, “No. Umm, having you holding me while you talked me through it really helped. So … yeah … I'll give it a try.” She refused to meet his eyes, hands moving over recorder. “When did you do this?”

He folded the towel she wasn’t using any longer. “I had Greg pick me up one in town yesterday. I got it set up last night. Figured even if it didn't work, it was worth a shot.”

“You stayed up late to do this, didn't you? I know you spend the nights with Miss Raven on the weekends.” The words were soft and quiet. Fingers of white, untroubled by hard labor, soft as rabbit fur, ran over the recorder that had cost him far more than he’d thought it would.

“You’re worth it.” Cesare waited until she had the headphones on before turning away.

The guys exchanged sullen looks as he approached. A slow, arrogant smile tugged at Cesare’s lips. They were itching for a fight after seeing him close to Anastasia. But it wasn’t up to them. They were her tools to be used and discarded on her whim. The only thing that separated them from Cesare were the lies they told themselves.

“You don’t like me, and I fucking hate you. Here’s your chance to get some payback if you got the balls to take it. Come at me one at a time, let’s see who’s cock’s bigger boys.” Raw hate saturated the air, fists clenched with rage engorged muscles.

“And if we don't like your terms?” He never got their names. They were nameless meat he beat on, flesh he hurt because he could, quivering things of pain he used to forge his soul into a killer.

“Then I’ll tell Anastasia that you're not cooperating.” The harem formed a circle around him.

It was strange how things changed. As they took turns coming at him it all fell into place, the training and the sparring with Tamlin crystalizing in him. He’d been a blind man armed with blocks of wood without a whisper to tell him what to make. Now those separate pieces joined, seeking each other out, fusing into something more than its parts. Cesare didn’t take the fight to the ground, already knowing he held dominion there. Instead, he focused on striking. Taking his pound of flesh for every time they’d left him bleeding in the dirt, every bruise that maimed his face, for the days they'd left him a misshapen thing of ruptured flesh and lacerated skin.

Time ceased to have meaning. Only the now was real. The past faded, distant and unreal. The future disappeared into misty curtains. Time was for others. Not him. Not this thing of swords and knives, of shields and power. His hands were daggers, slipping into guards with darting movements, ripping grunts and whines from the weak flesh that faced him. His swords slashed along ribs and stabbed deep, sending the meat sacks recoiling in pain, their bodies folding around wounds. His shins and arms shielded him, but they, too, exacted a price. Those that came into contact winced at the hardened muscle and bone.

Anastasia stepped into the circle, balanced and ready. The harem faded. They didn’t matter, they’d never mattered, shades of reality, too weak to own their truth. Only his kingdom mattered. That was his world. A realm of punishment; blood and flesh, heat and power, sweat and pain. Moving together, without thought, they closed. This is what he craved. He wanted to see her pain. To ruin that angel face, cut it open and make it bleed, reveal the weeping flesh underneath. He needed to dominate, control, and possess her. To carve her with dagger and sword, to maim her with his war hammers of knees and elbows.

Her punch was a blur, his dodge based on cues that came too quick for thought. The moment took shape, only to shatter and reform. A shift in a shoulder, a movement with her feet, the set to her eyes … they birthed the moment. She was faster and stronger but, despite all that, she was only a part of the moment. He slid to the side, his jab flickering out and cracking into her jaw.

She moved with the strike, her kick unfolded—a move to keep him distant and give her a chance to reset. Instead of moving back, he moved closer. A slashing elbow whipped her head to the side. Flexing his knees, an uppercut elbow rocketed her head back with an explosion of air. Her fist lashed out as she fell, breaking through his guard. Even off balance, she was still strong enough to shatter it. The strike hit his shoulder, throwing him sideways.

She staggered back, head rebounding with a smile. His low roundhouse kick snapped into her knee, buckling her leg. Remembering what happened last time, he kept his distance. His leg arched up, hammering her face with a punishing ax kick.

The force hurled her to the ground, splaying her out like gutted failure. The harem moved closer, hatred twisting their beautiful faces. Fear held them back, he’d bled them like the mewling children they were. And he'd do it again if they challenged him.

His kick had wiped the smile off her face. Getting up, she eyed him over the few feet that separated them. She was still as beautiful as ever, without even a bruise for the kick she’d taken. She moved into her stance, gliding lightly toward him. Then they were close, punches and kicks too fast for thought, reacting to a moment measured in fractions of seconds. Anastasia battered through his defenses, leaving painful bruises, one eye swelling up. For every punch she forced through, Cesare paid her back tenfold. Each impact jarred her body. She moved without pain or complaint, the power of the Umbrae Lunae suffusing every cell of her body.

They broke apart in a détente. Anastasia gasped for breath, chest heaving, face flushed from the fight. “Damn, you got good! I don't know who’s teaching you, but they deserve a raise! A month ago my guys were beating you down without breaking a sweat and now you’re standing toe to toe and scoring one to ten against me.” Warmth spread through him at her words. “Still, as good as you are, why are you learning this? You won't ever be able to hurt me like this … or any of the Thagirion. You’ll never be strong enough, not in the mendacium.”

And just like that, she crushed the beauty of the moment, stepping on it with the casual brutality of the strong. He pulled out the water, taking a deep drink before tossing the bottle to her. The best part wasn’t watching Anastasia dry off with a towel. No, it was seeing the harem, bloody and sweaty, lock on the water bottle with hungry eyes. “My problem isn’t just the Thagirion, it may shock you to know that I'm not universally loved.”

“It's not like you try to get along.” Anastasia handed the bottle back after a long drink.

“Not like I give a damn either. Better to live your truth than walk a lie.” Cesare packed the stuff back into his bag. “How did the meditation go?”

She flushed under his eyes. “Good. I feel like I could go again.” She hesitated as her hand moved over the small recorder. “Could I … borrow this for tonight?” She continued quickly, “I can move the file onto my phone. Then I could do it on my own.” He was familiar enough with Anastasia to know when she was sliding around the truth without lying.

But did it matter? He’d made it for her, and here she was asking him to let her take it. It was hers any way you sliced it. “I don't mind, but I need it back tomorrow. I have some other meditations I want to add … if you liked it, that is?” Now it was his turn to hesitate.

“I did. It was ... strange. Like I could feel the flame in my hands. I feel closer to it ... calmer … I don't know how to explain it, but it helped,” Anastasia said.

“Good. Let’s work on your accuracy.” Cesare's words brought an instant sadness to Anastasia's face.

“Oh, I thought we’d be working on speed drills.”

“Liked them?” The relief he felt was a physical thing that rolled through him. It was early, but at least he hadn't fucked this up yet.

“Yeah, it was … nice,” Anastasia said.

Leading her back to the targets, he chose an angle that only gave her side profiles to work with. “You have a number of targets in front of you. I don't care where you hit them; arm, leg, head, body, anything—just hit them. If you miss, I want you to move on.”

Anastasia let fly as soon as he gave the word. The first three were good but after missing the fourth one, worry poisoned skill. Anxiety made her motions jerky, stripping smoothness from the transitions that formed the bedrock of firing skill. Her form broke apart piece by piece, the misses racking up.

With clenched fists, she stared at the ground, unwilling to face him after failing so spectacularly. “I'm sorry … once I missed, I couldn't think past it … I just kept looking back at the target, then I started missing the others and …”

Cesare came up behind her and let his hands tentatively slid onto her hips. Anastasia thrummed with tension, muscles hard under his hands. “Let it go. Hands down and at the ready.” Letting out a sigh, she dropped her hands in defeat. Cesare’s lips rested just behind her ear, his hot breath stirring crimson hair. The smell of sweat and jasmine filled his world.

“Close your eyes.” Some of the tension drained away as the world went dark. “Take a deep breath. Now, let it out slowly.”

“It's just me and you. Only us in this moment. School, friends, harems, and mothers don’t exist in our place. I don't care if you hit the target. I don't care about Anastasia, the daughter of Kali, only Anastasia, my friend. And right here and now … that's all you are.” His words were barely a whisper across her skin. Her heat enveloped him, a living flame born of disease between his hands. “Feel the tension in your shoulders, focus on it. The stress that twists muscles into hard cords. Breath deep, pull it all the way down into you. Let it go, taking the tension with it … moving it out of you. This moment is all you have. No future. No past. I won't judge you because I don't care. I don't care how good a shot you are. I don't care who your mom is. I don't care what you are. You can't let me down. Not ever.” Listening, Anastasia became still in mind and body. Tension bled off her taut body, shoulders rounding with relaxation. Her breathing freed up, deepening at his words.

“We'll do this … together. I'll be with you. Are you ready?” Anastasia gave a slow nod.

With a push of a button, Cesare started the watch in his hand. “Now.” Her hands snapped into position, the bolt of fire burning down range, hammering into the target. Calmly and without a stutter, she hit the next three, and then it happened. She missed one, body tensing under his hands. Cesare’s words flowed into her. “Let it go. All we have is the moment, only we matter. Me and you.” She moved smoothly through the targets. Each time she missed he was there with a reassurance, his calm words smoothing jagged anxiety.

As she finished, he quietly stopped the watch. His hands rested on her hips, only inches between their bodies. Gods, how he wanted to press himself into her, to feel her soft body against his. The need was a razor blade pressing along the fault lines of his heart. “That's better. You want to try it on your own or finish like this?”

Anastasia's hands covered his on her hips. “Stay.” It was just one word, but it meant the world to him. A flash of lust twisted around a treacherous emotion he dared not identify.

They did the rest of the drills together. With his help, she improved by almost fifty percent across the board. She had a well of untapped potential, held back by a lack of confidence and training. Most never have the potential to be anything but grains of sand on a beach, a special few have it in them to be diamonds.

“Very good.” Cesare held her hips, imprinting the feel of her in his hands, etching it into his mind along with the smell that was uniquely hers. It didn’t matter that they’d stopped, he didn’t have it in him to let go.

“Only because of you.” The faith in her words shocked him, burning through him in a tide of terror. He’d never been worth that, all he’d ever done was fail. “I can't believe, I was so much better with you. If I could take you with me I’d never lose.” Flashes of arousal tingled down his spine at her throaty laugh.

“I don't think I'd fit in your purse.” Cesare laughed, easing over the awkward intimacy. “You did this. All I did was keep you calm. This is how good you are. Our job is to weaponize it, to turn that potential into something you can use.” It was a promise, but it hurt to say it. He craved this closeness, and he’d be the one to kill it.

Anastasia's hands covered his, fingers threading with his. “I'll always need you.” Silence stretched between them as she quietly added, “I couldn't do without your friendship.”

Letting go of her became as easy as breathing. Beautiful people didn't understand. Being friends with the person you cared for, hoping against fact that someday they’d look at you as something more than a friend, it was being skinned by inches day after day. Going to bed at night with dreams of your love dancing through your head, while watching as they loved another. It was scalpels and hooks, hot tongs and gleeful laughter, a self-made hell that was unending. He wouldn’t go there for her.

Women like Anastasia don’t end with guys like Cesare. She was rich, beautiful, and talented. Women like that don’t end up with homeless men. Girls dabble with bad boys, poor chumps, and working stiffs but they grow out of it. Rich, talented girls don’t marry kids from birthed in sewers with ticks in their hair. Who can blame them? Born into a world of endless possibilities, they're birds of sleek feathers looking down on the mangy rats chained digging through poverties rotting fruits.

Anastasia gathered her harem with a gesture. “Thanks for this. Same time tomorrow?” Cesare gave a terse nod to the quiet question.

It would be nice to workout with the targets, but now wasn’t the time for him to indulge his rage. He had homework, and if Anastasia was serious, then time would be hard to find. It meant that his homework, critical to his future, would suffer unless he made the time for it.

Walking down the corridor of thorns, Cesare could dimly see Alexandra standing patiently outside. She eyed him evenly when he stepped out from the sheltering thorns. “I was wondering how long you’d be. I wasn’t sure I believed the rumours until I watched her leave.”

“Want to come in? I don't think you came to say hi,” Cesare asked.

There was something off about her. She was too still, without a breath stirring her dead lips. Her pale skin was drawn tight across her skull, eye sockets sunken, green eyes shadowed, blade sharp cheek bones formed into cutting angles.

“It's that time?” His question brought her eyes to him. A simple nod was all the answer he needed. If there was one thing he learned on the streets, it’s that you pay your debts when they come due. Until you found a way out of them. “I’ve only done this once, so how do …” Cesare started.

“Sit down on the ground,” Alexandra interrupted. A raw, consuming need clawed through the air, birthed by her words.

She looked down on him, hunger glittering darkly in her eyes. Nothing could save him, running, fighting, screaming—none of it would matter. Out here with her, she could do anything she wanted. The difference in their power was a gulf he’d never bridge.

Cat quiet she walked around him until she was at his back. Cesare swallowed hard when she disappeared from sight, a fey terror skittering across his clammy skin. Her hands came down on his shoulders, velvet and steel, they locked him in place. Anastasia was fever hot to the touch, the flame that burned in her soul ebbing and flaring according to her moods. Alexandra was a void in the heat of the night. Coldly dry like a snake, her arm circled him possessively, the coiled constriction of an anaconda settling around its prey.

“I need to hold you in place. If you pulled away without me knowing, I could rip your throat open.” Simple, firm, a butcher explaining to the cow why it had to stand still.

Her body molded against his as she laid against his back. A shudder coursed through him, fear and desire’s barbed hooks sinking into him. She was a black hole of cold, tearing the heat from him. Pebbles rose across his skin. Her unholy cold seeped into his flesh, burrowing for bone.

Nuzzling his neck, her tongue licked across sweat coated flesh as small sounds of pleasure slipped from her lips. Low and husky, her voice was rough with malicious hunger. “Mmm, you smell good. Hot and ready … full and ripe.” Alexandra moaned, full throated and needy. “You smell of work and sweat. Blood and pain. I want … I need …” Fangs pierced his flesh, diving deep, seeking the life underneath.

Cold fire ran through his veins, rushing from twin spears of ice. It glided through his blood, voraciously devouring heat. Muscles jumped under agonies whip, survival demanding movement. Steel clamps held him in place, uncaring at the whines of pain filling the air. Wet moans of pleasure threaded through the greedy gulping of his blood. It wasn’t blood she feasted on, it was life, the scarlet essence of his life.

He’d given himself to her—this parasitic thing that sucked his life to sustain hers. This monstrous, baneful abomination that impaled him on her fangs, carving her dominance into the flesh of his body. She offered nothing but violation, pleasure for only half of the whole.

She slid her fangs out of his skin, the pain dissipating like strength under the knife, cold fire burning down to embers. Licking his neck, she nuzzled into the flesh, whispered words fragments of thought. “So good … can't take too much … shouldn’t be this good … more … must have … more … no, later … so good …” Alexandra's tongue dipped into the bite, sealing it up. Her tongue quested over his skin, seeking any stray drop or stain that might remain.

“Is it always like that?” Cesare started at the steadiness of his voice.

She hesitated, kissing his neck tenderly. No matter how gentle the kiss, the steel clamps that were her hands never wavered from their grip on his shoulders. “No. Never. We don't feed directly from humans. We feed from bagged blood … I’ve never heard of this … need … it's not … your blood shouldn’t call to me so strongly … it shouldn’t torment me at night … or taste so good …”

“You’re hoarding your power for a fight,” Cesare stated. The tensing of her body all the answer he needed. “You think it’ll escalate?”

“It can only escalate. The school was fine with me being Christian as long as I hid it. Now that I’m openly practicing, they’ll move against me. My friends are still standing by me … most of them,” Alexandra said.

“I'll stand with you.” The promise left his lips before he’d thought it through.

Alexandra stilled in the way of the dead, an ending of life, as if she moved beyond life's grip and into a state unchained by its dominion. “What do you mean?” It was a soldier's demand for clarification.

“If you need blade, I'll be there.” It was a simple promise to make. What would Alexandra need him for? She was a tiger, sleek and deadly, trained to be the strongest among a race of killers. She’d never need him except as food. A dry, bitter smile crossed Cesare's face. What tiger needs a rat to watch its back?

Hands lifting from his shoulders, she left behind cold, knotted muscles. Alexandra was transformed, skin flushed with vitality. Smooth, effortless movement marked her as something other than human. People aren’t made for grace and balance. Our walking is the grotesque controlled falling of things stripped of elegance. Alexandra floated across the ground with a wildness as beautiful as it was dangerous.