This one is for you, amor meus amissus. "Ne quid paeniteat quod causam dederit ridendi."
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The monster's fangs almost connected with her skin.
The sudden realization fueled Raine's anger. With a swift flick of the wrists, she revealed the daggers hidden under her sleeves, determined to kill the abomination she faced.
The vampire's hair was gleaming golden under the waning light of the moon, his eyes sparkling a reddish hue, his deadly white fangs bared. His body was tense, arms held away from his sides as if waiting for the right time to pounce. The muscles on his arms and thighs were apparent through the clothes he wore, warning Raine of the incredible powers he possessed.
Not that she was afraid. Hell, she would gladly lay down her own life for a chance to face vampires in combat, always anticipating the moment when their eyes widen as they realized that they were against no puny mortal. For Raine had been trained to do just that—surprise these atrocities with a silver blade through their hearts.
A dozen—perhaps two. She had lost count of the number of vampires who turned to ashes by the work of her hands. As long as she could rid the world of these blood-sucking fiends, she did not care how many she killed. Indeed, she did not care if she were killed in the process. After all, there were many other slayers out there, hunting down vampires the way she was doing.
"Come here, vampire," she hissed in a whisper, readying herself for battle. "Show me what you can do."
No sooner had she finished uttering those words when the vampire attacked, intent upon killing her. To her surprise, he moved even faster than he had before, his intent to kill apparent with every move. Raine countered the attacks, her blade strokes swift, yet the vampire deftly avoided them all.
Above them the moon hid behind a thick gray cloud, giving way to an eerie darkness that Raine disliked. Already she seemed to smell the upcoming rain. She had to kill this one before the first drops prevent her from seeing as well as she could. Before the floors of the rooftop became slick and tilt the odds in favour of the vampire.
Distracted by thoughts of rain, she was unprepared for the blow that the vampire delivered to her side. The blade flew from her left hand as pain seared on her arm.
Damn.
It would have served her better if she had two daggers instead of one.
Seeing her frustration, the vampire flashed an overconfident grin. The very sight of it was an insult to humanity, Raine thought. She felt sorry indeed for giving him a reason to smile.
Not that the smirk would last.
She took out another dagger from her back, this time grinning at him. The vampire did not seem fazed, though. The same confidence radiated from him—the same murderous rage. What could Raine expect, anyway, when she killed his mate before his very eyes?
Serves him right,
Raine thought, remembering her own shock and fury as she watched this same vampire drain the life out of Bram. She had almost attacked him then, if only she did not know better.
She had been injured then. With her right arm bleeding, she had no way of defeating the fiend. It would have been folly to fight; Bram's sacrifice would have been for naught. Wasn't it to buy her time to flee that he faced the vampire? So she left.
Yet, in that moment when she turned her back, Raine vowed she would inflict the same kind of pain on the monster who took Bram's life. She would kill him, but not before she had killed his mate.
The vampire attacked, his movements full of deadly purpose. Raine managed to avoid his blows, though she had to admit that the vampire was stronger than she expected.
Power out of fury.
Making him see his mate die might not have been the wisest thing to do, but the call for revenge was strong, and Raine answered it.
A movement to the left caught her eye. Raine tensed, the need to find out who moved battling with the need to keep a close eye on her opponent. The lack of any movement afterwards made her think that she was imagining things.
Another movement—behind the vampire this time. Raine
had to
look. Big mistake. For in that brief moment when her attention strayed, the vampire seized his chance.
With a blow to the spot where her wound was, the vampire disarmed Raine, who uttered a cry of pain as she clutched at the reopened wound. It immediately began bleeding. The vampire growled, pouncing on her in one swift motion. Before Raine could react, he had his mouth on the side of her neck, ready to sink his teeth into her flesh. She could feel the tips of his fangs grazing her skin.
Damn.
And then, with a hair-raising growl, the vampire—unbelievably—roughly shoved her away.
Raine stared. His eyes, too, were wide with surprise as they looked at hers. Her brain seemed to have stopped working, stuck on one and only one thought.
Why did he let her go?
As the vampire sank to his knees, Raine saw it: the tip of a silver spearhead protruding out of his chest, which even then was starting to burn away. The vampire made to turn his head, intent on finding out who struck him down. Yet no sooner had he seen did the vampire crumbled to dust, which was immediately scattered by the fierce wind that had started to blow. The silver-tipped spear fell to the floor with a metallic clang.
Raine, too, wanted to know who saved her life. Down on her knees and clutching at her bleeding arm, she stared into the face of her saviour—
And froze.
He was tall, beautifully built, clad in tight black jeans and a dark purple tee over which a black leather jacket was thrown. The attire highlighted his physique—from wide shoulders, broad chest and trim waist, down to muscular thighs and long legs. His raven black hair was combed back, emphasizing his strong jawline and high cheekbones. His eyes were of a deep shade of blue, almost purplish in its hue: a strange colour for a man with black hair and slightly tanned complexion. A well-defined nose and kissable lips completed his features.
He radiated power and masculinity—a heady combination, especially in a man so beautiful the gods must have blessed the day he was born. Raine could imagine women falling head over heels into him, falling prey to his good looks and mysterious quality.
Which would serve him best, she concluded, as a pain so raw and inexplicable wrung her heart.
For in the long moments when they stood there looking at each other, with him standing as still as a statue and her kneeling on the cold floor eight metres away from him, never once had the man breathed. The only indication that he was
alive
was the blinking of those strange, beautiful eyes.