The Hunters and The Hunted

Unexpected Visitor

The sun was up, and Marty's phone was ringing. Tara’s name flashed on the screen. Marty wanted to ignore it. She knew what the call was for. The store needed to be opened and Tara was hungover. She answered anyway, “Hello?”

“Marty?” There was a groggy voice on the other end.

“Yes?”

“Can you-“

“Open the store?” Marty finished the sentence.

“Please?”

“I have to leave by two.”

“I’ll be there by noon, promise.”

“Fine…” Marty tried not to sound annoyed but this happened every time Tara asked her to trade. Tara was good to her, anyway. There wasn’t much to complain about otherwise.

Philo slept silently beside Marty. His soft curls fell against the edges of his face. Long elegant lashes rested against his cheeks. He looked so peaceful. Marty was jealous. She wanted a peaceful sleep. Instead, she was doing what she did best; being a doormat.

The shifting of getting out of bed stirred the sleeping demigod. One eye opened to watch the human head toward the door. “Got the call?” He asked knowing Tara’s habits.

“Yup!” Marty shouted heading down the hall. Next stop, the kitchen. Even on her busiest day, there was always time for breakfast. Always.

“I can drive you,” Philo sat at the table as Marty shoveled eggs onto his plate. One thing about being friends with Marty meant you were always going to be fed. She didn't get ready-made food. She even made her cat’s food from scratch. She took pride in what she did. Those around her benefited.

“I don't want to inconvenience you.” Marty sat to eat her breakfast with the speed of a cheetah. “I'm all the way uptown. You have to go downtown.”

“Nonsense,” He took a bite of food before finishing his statement, “let me drive you. It’ll give you more time to get ready.”

She looked down at her pajamas and grumbled. “Oh, alright.”

“Now, did that hurt?”

Marty rolled her eyes and stuffed more breakfast into her mouth. Philo was only trying to help. She had to get over feeling like a burden to people. It was hard living in a city where everything could kill you. Especially, coming from a home where the one person who was supposed to protect you, tried to kill you, too. Trusting anyone was hard. After three years, it was getting easier to accept the help of others. Well, at least Philo’s help. Everyone else was suspicious.

The party was set for five. That meant she needed to be at Ira’s for three. Ira didn't live too far from Enchanted Nights, but Marty wanted to give herself enough time to get there, change and start her prep.

Of course, Marty worked most of the morning alone. Tara promised she would be there by noon. That was code that she would show up by one. Which was exactly what happened.

“Marty,” Tara walked in with her sunglasses glued to her face and a double espresso in her hand, “You truly are an angel.”

“You can thank me by clocking in and letting me go,” she smiled brightly trying not to sound bitter or cranky. Even though Tara and every girl in the store took advantage of Marty’s lack of social life, they all loved her, and she loved them. She couldn’t fault them for wanting to have fun while they could.

“Give me a minute,” Tara sang as she walked into the back.

“A minute,” Marty stated as Tara took her sweet time. Marty had a long list of triggers for her anxiety. The bulk of them was created by Onofrio. However, running late was a trigger that was tried and true from her youth. It crept in as each second ticked by.

“Okay! I’m here!” Tara waved Marty out. “Go do your cooking thing,” and Marty couldn't have clocked out faster.

She flipped through some music on her phone and speed-walked her way to the large obsidian building where Ira called home.

#

She was let into the building through the staff entrance. Marty kept her headphones on up until she had to endure talking with Ira’s other household staff.

“Hey, Marty!” A mermaid shouted as Marty took the earbuds out. “I didn’t know you were cooking tonight. I would have asked to stay!” The young mermaid was a regular on Ira’s wait staff that Marty recognized but her name vanished from memory.

“I’m sorry!” Marty grinned and tried to keep it moving.

There was a staff changing room. Ira had a dress code. Red. Lots of red. Marty wore a red double-breasted jacket, with black and white houndstooth pants and a black apron. Ira didn’t press the whole hat thing and Marty didn’t care for wearing one. So, she pulled her hair into a tight bun and she was done.

Once she changed, Marty went to the kitchen where she was able to play her music. Ira knew of Marty’s weird habits and since the food was good, she got away with it. The instrumentals poured out through the speakers and the velvet voices singing in Italian made her sway.

Marty preferred to cook for small dinner parties alone. She didn’t want so many hands in her kitchen if it was unnecessary. She could chop and mince in peace.

“Con te partirò” Marty belted out the words to one of her favorites. It was the only Italian she knew besides the bad words. Who didn’t know the bad words to a few other languages? “Paesi che non ho mai”

Then she heard the kitchen door open. While the knife in her hand was steady, she felt like her entire body was shaking.

“Sorry to interrupt,” A man’s voice spoke, “but I just had to see where that beautiful voice came from.” The hair on the back of Marty’s neck stood on end as she heard his heavy feet move across the floor. “Are you one of Ira’s girls?”

Marty took a deep breath and tried to continue her chopping. “I am employed by her.” Another foot stepped closer.

“You shouldn’t be trapped back here in the kitchen.” Marty could feel his breath touch her ear as a hand slipped around her waist. Her eyes clenched shut as she tried to hold it together. Maybe if she didn’t move he would just leave.

The kitchen door swung open. “What are you doing?” Ira’s voice barked, her natural demeanor igniting the air around her through her words. “Hands off my chef or I will kill you.” Marty didn’t need to see Ira know the fury in her eyes. She felt the man’s hand snap from her side.

He stammered trying to explain he didn’t mean any type of disrespect. All parties in the kitchen knew he was only making matters worse. “My apologies, Madame.” Then he was gone.

The soft click of heels crossed the floor. “He will be dealt with accordingly. Continue cooking, Marty.” Ira’s cool voice sent shivers down Marty’s spine. She was certainly glad to not be on the receiving end of that firecracker.

Despite Ira’s intervention, Marty felt the hands of the man on her. It felt as if leeches were stuck to her side. They were draining her soul and feeding her anxiety. Her mind was back to her Nicole days. She could smell Onofrio’s cologne. The air was thick with it; suffocating her slowly.

“Marty!” Jez, her friend, and a waitress for the party, came into the kitchen. She quickly moved to her friend’s side and hugged her. “You’re okay,” Jez repeated it over and over again. The two women worked together at Enchanted Nights. It was Marty who got Jez the waitressing gig at Ira’s dinner parties. Jez had also seen Marty amid a panic attack. The sea witch typically had a tonic to settle the nerves. She had left it all in the car.

Jez started the grounding process. Five things you can see. Four things you can feel. Three things you can hear. Two things you can smell. One thing you can taste. It worked. Every time.

“Thanks, J,” Marty hugged her friend before the two got to their feet.

“Any time. Get to cooking. No one wants Ira to be irritated because dinner isn’t ready,” Jez smiled at the other and patted her cheek.

“Oh, sure, that helps.” They both chuckled lightly.

“See ya. There’s a hot eighteenth-century demon hybrid working tonight. I need his number.”

The technique helped. Marty was able to complete cooking in time. There would be no beheading tonight. Well, not because she didn’t finish on time. She couldn’t guarantee anything else. That was on the rest of the staff.

Ira liked parading Marty around. Even though one of her guests violated the order to leave Marty alone, the chef was brought out once dinner was served.

“Silence, you filthy heathens.” She stood in a floor-length red dress that clung to her curves. Her near-white hair was pin-straight. It had two small braids pulled back and pinned with an onyx clip. Upon close inspection, the clip was a decapitated head screaming.

The room fell silent and Ira looked to the woman beside her. “Our chef for the evening. One of my most precious gems. With a soul purity of ninety-three, she is-“

“How’d you get her?” A guest interrupted.

Ira’s eyes locked onto the creature’s. He shrunk into his seat and tried to hide from her. Ira was pure unadulterated rage all the time and her aura flowed with feral energy. Marty could feel what was about to happen. So, she closed her eyes.

Marty opened her eyes and saw the scene. Red. Red everywhere. It splattered on the walls, the guests, and the tables. Ira had blurred behind the loudmouth and tore his body in two. The left laid on the floor, oozing blood and organs on the floor. The right remained in her clenched fist. “Anyone else have anything else to add?” Her voice hissed before there was the thud of flesh on the floor.

Needless to say, Marty couldn't have left the party any faster after the scene Ira made. She received a text from Philo offering to pick her up, but she declined. She was going to pick up a movie then head home. She needed fresh air to fill her senses and clear her mind.

Movies weren’t exactly the pinnacle of entertainment. Except for a handful of beings, most of the city was populated by immortals. Most haven’t seen a movie since Nosferatu. That spoke volumes about how the medium was treated.

Fifi’s on Fifth was a small human-owned chain of stores. They had three stores throughout the city. They sold things found in the outside world. They were the only place one could find a DVD. All of which were located in a bin near the back of the store.

It had been three years since Marty saw a new movie. Most of the ones in the bin were old-school classics. She didn’t mind, though. She loved Humphrey Bogart and Audrey Hepburn.

“Excuse me,” a man's voice came from the other side of the bin Marty was digging through, “what would you recommend?”

Marty was going to ignore it but she looked up and saw who it was. “Uh,” she dug around and handed him a random movie. Then she saw the title. It was one of the Hepburn films she was looking for, Sabrina.

“Is it good?” Donovan asked with a smirk.

“Sure is,” Marty blushed. She wasn’t used to men that looked like Donovan giving her looks like that. Well, she was but she wasn’t used to liking it. She usually felt her skin crawl. Instead, she felt her cheeks warm and her heart race.

“I don't suppose that you like it enough that you'd want to watch it together?” Donovan took the case and flipped it over to read the back. Marty waited for him to finish and tell her never mind. “I’m going to need someone to help me with all the old-school lingo.” He made the movie dance around in his hands.

Marty hid the laughter with her hands and nodded yes.

#

Having Donovan in her house was scary. Philo was the only man to ever enter the threshold. Even the people who came to do repairs were female.

“Are you hungry?” Marty walked into her small house and dropped the keys into a decorative dish on a slender table near the door. Then she continued toward the kitchen.

“If you're going to cook, how can I say no?” Donovan asked following behind her.

The small one-bedroom house was a clean bright white, inside and out. The only pops of color were the furniture and the flower arrangements that seemed to take place on every flat surface.

“You have a nice house,” he took a seat at the kitchen table and fiddled with the rose petals that laid there.

“Thank you,” Marty grinned as she pulled out a few ingredients for something simple. “I won’t take long.”

“Take your time. I don't have anywhere to be,” Donovan leaned back in the chair and draped an arm over the back. He watched Marty as she moved into the kitchen. She was in her comfort zone and she was amazing. If he wasn't already taken with her, then he would have been at that point.

“Hey there, Dahlia,” Marty greeted her cat as she sauntered on into the kitchen to investigate. “This is-” Marty looked up at Donovan and saw him frozen in terror. “Are you okay?”

His finger pointed toward the cat as she stared him down. “Oh!” Marty jumped into action as her furry baby slowly approached her house guest. “I'm sorry! She's a sweetheart.”

“It's okay.” Donovan was visibly uncomfortable. Marty wasn't used to people being afraid of her cat. Dahlia was a very well-behaved feline but she was curious, too. She just wanted to investigate the newcomer.

“I'll put her in my room,” Marty quickly whisked the black cat down the hall and into her room. “Stay here,” She whispered as she backed out. Dahlia wasn’t happy.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Marty wasn’t expecting anyone else. She almost didn’t answer. But there was another knock. Marty walked to the door cautiously and answered the door. “Philo!” Marty hugged her best friend and invited him to the kitchen. “What are you doing here?”

“You said you were getting a movie, so I figured I couldn't let you watch it alone.” Philo’s usual grin flattened into a fine line as he looked up. “I see you already have company.”

“Oh! Yes,” Marty turned to face Donovan, “Donovan, this is Philo, my best friend. Philo, this is Donovan. We ran into each other on the way home.” The two men seemed tense. Marty didn't know what to do.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Donovan spoke first offering a hand to the younger man.

“Likewise,” Philo’s displeasure with the situation was palpable. Marty cleared her throat and returned to cooking as the two men stared at one another, “Marty says you're part merfolk.”

“She's told you about me?” Donovan’s grin grew. He had to have left some sort of impression on the woman if she talked about him to her best friend.

“Briefly,” Philo didn't sound all too happy about Donovan's reaction. “I don't know what your goal is here with her, but she's married.” As if the giant rock she wore wasn't a reminder enough, Philo felt a verbal one was warranted, as well. The two men exchanged looks and preceded to see if Marty needed any help. “I can get the wine out,” Philo moved quickly since he had the advantage of knowing the kitchen.

“Thank you,” Marty grinned, and Philo lightly touched her waist without hesitation as he reached into the cabinet for glasses. Marty might not have noticed it, but Donovan did.

“Marty, would you like for me to do anything?” Donovan felt like the odd man out with Mr. Best Friend there knowing exactly what to do.

Marty spun around and gave him a sweet smile as a strand of hair floated in front of her face. Before she could tuck it away, Donovan took the step forward and gently swiped it behind her ear. He received the reaction he had hoped for when Marty’s cheeks rouged.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Uh, um,” she seemed to lose her train of thought. “You can make yourself comfortable. I usually do all of the prep work myself.”

“I used to help my mom with the slicing and dicing,” Donovan shrugged, “I can help with that. That way we can get to watching the movie sooner.”

“Marty doesn't like-”

“Actually, that wouldn't be terrible. I mean if you know what you're doing then I don't mind.” Marty stepped to the side and passed the handle of the knife to Donovan, who gave Philo a smirk. “I just need the onions diced.”

Donovan pulled the same trick as Philo but instead of it going unnoticed, he made sure she reacted. “Oh, I'm sorry,” his apology was a delicate whisper in her ear. That was how it was done.

#

Tillie was in so much trouble. She left her bow in the wolf’s locker. Sabine was going to kill her. The first rule was to never trust a wolf. The second was to always keep your weapon. She broke both rules.

“Come on,” Tillie listened as the tumblers within the lock moved. She might not have been much of a hunter, but she could pick any lock. She heard the last tumbler fall and beamed with excitement. “Nothing is unpickable.” She yanked the locker door open and her heart dropped. It wasn't there. “Fuck!” She slammed it shut and took off before anyone could catch her.

Tillie fidgeted with the strings of her hood as she tried to figure out what to do. How could she be a hunter without her weapon? Poor Sasha was all alone and with that werewolf. If he even had it. What if he sold it? What would she do? What would happen to her career as a werewolf hunter?

That was when she saw it and let out a gasp. The town car where she last saw Dane was parked outside of a restaurant. She looked to the sky and mouthed a thank you.

To her luck, the driver was still in the vehicle while idling. Which meant Dane was probably busy inside. She crept along the side and tried to peek in the window but the tints were too dark to see. With a heavy sigh, she quickly got into the vehicle. Before the driver could react, she had one of her lock-picking tools to the man’s throat, “Bring me to Dane’s place or die.” She didn’t know if the edge could puncture anything but she was hoping he wasn’t willing to find out.

The young driver carefully left the restaurant. “You know he’ll have me killed, right?” The driver whispered.

“He’ll get over having to walk home.”

“Huh?”

“Shut up and drive,” Tillie pressed the tool into his neck and he zipped his lips.

The landscape of skyscrapers and apartment buildings faded to the warehouses and factories located further west in the city. Tillie heard warehouse living was a new thing, but she wasn't aware it was a thing in Crossroads.

The car stopped in front of a large warehouse. Tillie got out and leaned against the driver’s door.“I was never here. You were never here.” He glared up at her as he rolled up the window. Then the car peeled away. He wanted nothing to do with what was about to happen.

She found the door rather easily. It was located next to the giant bay door on the far side of the building. It was a standard lock, Tillie could pick it in her sleep. She would have to make sure to mention how easy it was to break in next time she ran into the old wolf.

She entered a large open floor plan. “Whoa,” She was impressed. It looked better than she expected. It was way better. She expected some dirt-filled rat hole. His place was neat, organized, and tidy. He had coasters on his coffee table. “What werewolf has fucking coasters?” She muttered.

Tillie tossed the cushions from the couch. She looked underneath it, too. There wasn’t much in the ways of hiding places. The kitchen cabinets were bare; not even a plate. The drawers had spare motorcycle parts and tools. Tillie looked over her shoulder and saw the motorcycle sitting in the loading dock area. She was hoping her weapons would be sitting on the back of the Road King. The only shine was the freshly polished chrome. “Where the fuck is my bow?” Her frustration was buzzing through to her fingertips.

“It’s hidden.” Tillie whipped around to find where the voice came from, “Up here.” When she looked up, there Dane was standing at the top of the stairs. “Surprised?”

Tillie froze as he came down. His chest was exposed as sweat pants clung to his hips. His footsteps were silent. That was how she noticed he was barefoot. He must’ve been sleeping. “Speechless, even?” His ice-blue eyes were on hers as he crossed the floor. “I’ll give you one chance to leave with your life.”

“My life?” Tillie barked out a laugh.

#

Why couldn’t all doctor’s offices be like a pediatrician’s office? They had toys and cute pictures on the walls. Kids ran around with giggles and parents chased their sick toddlers who had more energy while they were sick than when they were well. A pediatrician’s office would have been a much better place than the office Tillie waited in.

“Tillie Lanes?” A nurse came into the waiting area and looked around. “Tillie?”

“Hey there, April,” Tillie hopped up and followed the nurse through the maze of examination rooms. The room she was brought into was just as clinical and boring as the waiting room. It lacked the things that made Tillie who she was. It lacked life.

“Alright,” April pulled out the blood pressure cuff, and out of habit, Tillie gave her arm. “How’s it been?”

“Oh, it's been okay. How’ve you been? I see the cast is gone.” Tillie motioned toward the arm of the woman taking her preliminary vitals. The last time Tillie was there, April had a fractured wrist from a fall. She was human, like Tillie. April believed in medicine over magic. So, she let her body heal her over some potion from a healer.

“Oh, yes. I had it taken off two days ago.” April laughed as she pulled the cuff off and jotted down the notes into Tillie’s file. “It feels great to have it gone, finally.”

“I bet.” Tillie swung her feet back and forth. “Can you tell me the results?” Tillie tried to peek at the files that April was pulling out for the doctor, but she didn’t know what she was looking at.

“Sorry, Tillie. I wish I could, but Dr. Wilmot will be in to go over them soon.” April was forcing a smile. Tillie could tell. Nurses saw the paperwork enough to know what was good and what was bad. When it was bad, they pulled the doctor card. They always pulled the doctor card.

“Alright.” Tillie sighed.

“Get comfy, okay?” The nurse dismissed herself and Tillie flopped back onto the examination table. Waiting was killing her more than what could be inside her body. Why couldn't they just send a text or leave a voicemail before the visit? That way sitting in the starkly clinical room wouldn't be torture.

Knock. Knock. “Ms. Lanes?” Tillie shot up to see Dr. Wilmot enter. “How have you been?” He asked pulling the papers into his hands.

“Doc,” All the joy in her face was drained, “Can you just tell me the results?”

“Well,” Dr. Wilmot’s lips pressed into a thin line. The deep wrinkles on his forehead creased even more as they were pulled together. “You have Small-cell Carcinoma. It's very aggressive and we believe it has already spread. We want to try radiation to shrink the largest tumor that way we can remove it and any other possible tumors.”

“What?” Tillie stopped listening at ‘carcinoma’. She was only twenty-eight years old. She had plans. Sabine and she had goals. They were going to take down the Fur Traders. They were going to be the biggest worst werewolf hunters out there. How was she going to tell her that she was sick?

“Ms. Lanes, you have cancer.”

#

Dane was a breath away from Tillie. He could smell the sweat as it beaded on her skin. “Yes, your life. I don't typically let people live after they've silvered me.” His grin was devious as he watched her.

“Then why haven't you killed me yet?” Tillie spat out.

“I find you strangely amusing. You risked coming all this way for a bow and a few arrows. Albeit a stupid move, I can appreciate someone who's dedicated to their weaponry.” Dane circled her like a hawk. If she was a smart hunter she wouldn't have shown up without anything. Then again, she broke into a werewolf’s home without any backup because she was dumb enough to leave her bow with him. The cards weren’t in her favor.

“Just give me my things,” Tillie kept her voice steady. She needed to make sure not to show him she was weak. She needed to get the weapons and get out of there.

“Find them and they’re yours.” He whispered in her ear as he stepped around her and out of the way.

Tillie kept her eye on the werewolf as she slowly walked around the open layout of his loft. “Can I get hints?” She ducked her head to look underneath the stools that lined the counter.

“No,” Dane answered quickly. He didn't want her to find the crap in the first place. He wasn't about to make it easier on her.

“Come on. At least let me know if I'm getting close. Hot or cold?” Tillie shoved a stool over out of frustration.

“Cold,” Dane said while hiding his laughter. As much as he despised hunters, the one in his house seemed to appeal to his better nature, if such a thing existed.

“They’re in your room, aren’t they?” Tillie shouted heading for the stairs. Her petite feet bounded up the steps and carried her swiftly to Dane’s room.

Her eyes scanned the room. He was sleeping by the looks of his bed. Otherwise, it was clean. She expected a mess. As if the first floor was just for show. Obviously, it wasn’t.

“Be careful with where you look,” Dane was standing in the doorway watching the woman rummaging through his belongings. “Don't give me a reason to go back on my word.”

“Then just give me what I want,” Tillie was flat against the wall as she reached around the back of the dresser. “I'll gladly leave once I get them.”

“You know what I wanted? Not to be silvered.” Dane lifted the side of his shirt to reveal a small pink scar. “Especially not by hunter’s silver.”

“Shouldn’t have tried to kiss me, then.” Tillie stood up and headed toward the desk.

“I did kiss you and you kissed me back,” Dane added and watched her reaction carefully. She ignored him and kept looking. She was determined to find her belongings. Dane was determined to enjoy watching her look for them.

“Why are you doing this? What do you get out of this?” Tillie slammed a drawer shut. “Are they even in here?” She whipped around to see him standing there with a shit-eating grin. “Are you going to answer me?”

“Because you kissed me back.”

“That’s a bullshit reason!” Tillie’s hands flew into the air. “That is complete bullshit. You’re hiding them because I kissed you back?” She stomped across the room and got in his face. “What kind of logic is that?”

“I’m not killing you because you kissed me back,” He laughed. “I think you came here hoping to see me again.”

“Fat chance,” she rolled her eyes. “I didn’t even know you would be here.”

“Why wouldn’t I be at my own house?”

“I thought you were… the only time I want to see you is with silver through your heart.”

“I suppose you should find those weapons then.” Dane knew he was taunting her. That was his goal.

Her nostrils flared. She was so angry. The anger was directed at herself. She was an idiot. She should’ve just killed him when she had a chance. He just looked so peaceful as he slept beside the lake. She couldn’t bring herself to ambush him. Hindsight is twenty-twenty.

“Tick tick,” Dane crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame.

Her hand came up and slapped him across the face. Then the other did the same. Dane looked at her with wide eyes. The air was charged as they stared at one another.

She went to slap him again and he caught her wrist, “this won’t help you.” Then he tossed her hand to the side.

“I just want my babies,” she stomped her foot like a little girl on the edge of a tantrum.

“Look, unless you find them, you’re not getting them back. So, you can keep wasting my time or leave.” Dane was being awfully un-himself.

“No sympathy for a cancer patient?” She gave him a half-smile.

“Sympathy would be killing you before the sickness does,” her eyes widened at his comment.

She brought his hand to her throat, “kill me then. Right here. Do it.” Dane wasn’t expecting the sudden change of pace. She didn’t seem like the type who wanted to die. Although, coming to his place was a risk she willingly took. Maybe she did have a death wish. “Do it!”

Dane squeezed her airway. He heard her heart rate quicken. The blood pulsed against his grasp. A small gasp left her lips and he let go. “You’re an idiot. Get out or I’ll really kill you.”

“What in the actual fuck?” She stared up at him with anger in her eyes. “I give you a clean shot to kill me and you won’t take it?”

“I told you, get out.”

Tillie shoved past him and marched down the long walkway. She stopped at the top of the staircase and turned around. “Do you want to know why I kissed you back?” She asked angrily.

“Why?” Dane was unamused in his reply.

“Despite being a fleabag, there has to be some good in you.”

“I have a soul purity of thirty-six percent. Please, save me the redeemable speech and leave.” Dane headed down the walkway toward her. “One more shot or I’ll rip your throat out right here. Go.”

“I don’t think you will. Not now.”

“Why’s that?” He stopped in front of her.

“You want to think I’m right.”

“And if I throw you down these stairs?” He grabbed the front of her shirt, “then what?”

“We both get what we want. I’ll be dead and you’ll get to keep your reputation intact.” Tillie rocks back on her heels and lets him hold her fate in his hands.

Her desperation for death was never a loud voice in her head. Tillie thought about it but she wanted to live for Sabine. Sabine lost her entire family. Sabine would have no one if Tillie died. How could Tillie possibly do that to her? And yet, she was there with the werewolf asking for death.

Meanwhile, Dane looked at her. He knew how she felt. When he first turned all he wanted was death. He wanted to be reunited with his wife and child. But something kept him going. There was a small willingness to live. A part of him that kept him tethered to the world. He could tell she was in that limbo; the in-between of wanting to live and wanting to die.

Dane pulled her lips to his. She didn’t have a dagger to keep her wits. Instead, she kissed him back sans the stabbing. She removed his hand from her shirt and wrapped her arms around his neck.

The hairs of his beard tickled at her skin as his lips ventured down her neck. Her head tilted back against the wall with a soft breathy moan. She squealed as rough hands hooked her legs around his hips. His hard-to-conceal erection pressed against her.

“Wouldn’t this be easier in your bed?” Tillie whispered in his ear. The breath against his skin sent shivers down his spine. A guttural growl shook from his chest and his hips rolled agonizingly slow.

Truthfully, it had been a while since he had sex with a human. He kept his distance due to their frailty. One wrong move and they die. Fucking humans was delicate work. The immortal liked to fuck hard and rough.

With Tillie, he couldn’t tear through her like he would another immortal. She wouldn’t heal. Instead, he shredded the fabric of her leggings. His fingers tore and tore until there was a hole exposing the wet panties that concealed her sex.

Her protests were replaced with a moan as his thumb circled her tender bean. He pressed harder and felt her twitch under his control.

Dane pushed her panties to the side and dipped a finger quickly inside her. He hummed with pleasure before he unsheathed himself. And a “fuck” followed filling her from tip to hilt.

Tillie gasped as she stretched to take him. Her nails dug into his shoulders. They dragged along his exposed flesh. The air bite at the fresh scratches for a moment. His flesh quickly healed leaving faint pink lines over his skin.

Their skin slapped together with an echo through the large open warehouse loft.

#