My heart hammers against my ribs like it's trying to punch its way out of my chest. The assassin's grip is like iron as she stares at the blood trickling from my nose, her gray eyes widening with that same hungry look I've seen in Maeve's crimson ones.
"Your blood..." she whispers, her voice tight with something between shock and desire.
I struggle against her hold, planting my palms against the cold concrete of the parking garage and trying to push myself backward. "Look, I'm not sure what's happening, but…"
She moves faster than I can track, one moment standing over me, the next shoving me onto my back with supernatural strength. My head cracks against the ground, sending stars dancing across my vision as she straddles my hips, pinning me down with her weight.
"Get off me!" I grunt, bucking upward and trying to throw her off. But it's like trying to move a statue, she doesn't even budge. Her thighs clamp around my waist with crushing force as her gloved hand presses against my chest.
"Stop moving," she commands, but there's a tremor in her voice that wasn't there before.
I ignore her, twisting and fighting with everything I have. My elbow connects with her ribs, but she barely flinches. It's like hitting a brick wall. Emily lies unconscious just a few feet away, completely useless in this situation, and Maeve is still at the hockey game, probably cheering on the precious Bruins while I'm being assaulted in a parking garage.
The assassin's free hand shoots out, grabbing my wrists and pinning them above my head in one fluid motion.
"Let me go!" I demand, but my voice cracks embarrassingly.
She doesn't respond. Instead, she leans down, her face hovering just above mine. Her eyes never leave the blood that's now reached my upper lip. Then, without warning, her tongue darts out, cool and wet as she licks a path from my lip all the way up to the bridge of my nose, collecting every drop of blood.
The sensation sends an unwelcome shiver through me. It's nothing like when Maeve does it, there's no pleasure, just a visceral disgust.
As soon as my blood touches her tongue, her back arches dramatically, her head thrown back as a moan escapes her lips. Her gray eyes glow with an unnatural light.
Her back straightens suddenly as her head snaps forward, eyes locked on my neck. I barely have time to process what's happening before she lunges down, fangs piercing my skin with surgical precision.
"Fuck!" I gasp, but the curse transforms into a moan as that familiar wave crashes through me, that impossible pleasure radiating from the bite. It's there, that same supernatural high I get when Maeve feeds, but... different. Weaker. Like comparing boxed wine to aged champagne.
My muscles start to loosen against my will, arms going slack above my head as she drinks deeply from my neck. The garage around me blurs at the edges, my body betraying me as it responds to whatever is flooding my system.
"No," I manage weakly, the word barely audible even to my own ears. "Stop... please..."
She doesn't listen. Instead, her hands move to my pants, ripping the fabric like tissue paper. The sound of tearing cloth echoes through the empty garage as cold air hits my exposed skin.
"Your blood," she whispers against my neck between pulls, "it's like nothing I've ever tasted."
I try to fight back, to push her away, but my limbs won't cooperate. The bite has turned me into a ragdoll, conscious but helpless as she positions herself over me. To my horror, I realize I'm hard, my body responding automatically as my mind screams in protest.
"Don't," I plead, but she's already ripped her own pants. Now she's lowering herself onto me, a groan of satisfaction escaping her lips as she takes me inside her.
She begins to move, riding me with inhuman strength while continuing to drink from my neck. The dual sensation is overwhelming, pleasure and violation tangled together in a way that makes me feel sick even as my body responds.
"Maeve is going to kill you," I choke out.
She tears her mouth from my neck, my blood dripping down her chin. Her hand whips across my face, the slap stinging like fire but she doesn't stop riding me, her hips never breaking rhythm.
"MAEVE KILLED MY PARENTS!" she screams, her face contorting with rage and something else, a wild, unhinged look creeping into those glowing gray eyes.
"Stop…" I struggle weakly, trying to push her off. "Stop raping me!"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" She slaps me again, harder this time.
I feel dizzy, confused. What the hell is she talking about? Maeve killed her parents? The woman above me doesn't look rational anymore, her eyes are completely unfocused, her movements becoming more erratic by the second. My blood is doing something to her, just like it does to Maeve.
"Oh god..." The words escape me as I feel the pressure building. I hate my body for responding, hate that I can't stop what's happening. Against my will, I start cumming deep inside her, my back arching off the concrete as waves of unwanted pleasure crash through me.
She throws her head back, screaming in ecstasy. "I FEEL SO ALI…"
Two deafening cracks interrupt her words. Her body jerks violently, still on top of me as I'm finishing. Blood sprays across my chest, not mine this time.
"What the fuck?" I gasp.
The assassin's body twitches and convulses above me, her eyes wide with shock. Two holes lie in her temple. To our right stands Emily, swaying slightly on her feet, a pistol gripped in her hands. Her blue eyes look tired, but she keeps the gun trained on the woman impaled on my cock.
With surprising gentleness, Emily pulls the dying assassin off me. I slide out with a wet sound that makes me want to vomit. The woman collapses to the garage floor, blood pooling beneath her from two bullet wounds to her back.
I lie there in shock, my body trembling as I stare at the assassin's twitching form on the floor. Blood continues to pool beneath her, spreading toward me in a dark, sticky puddle. I want to move away, to escape this nightmare, but my limbs feel like lead weights.
Emily drops to her knees beside the dying woman, her face determined as she examines the body. The assassin's eyes are still open, gray irises glowing faintly as she gasps for breath, blood bubbling at the corners of her mouth.
"What the fuck is in your blood, Vincent?" Emily mutters, her voice hoarse as she stares at the woman's face. "She should be dead already. Your blood is letting a dhampir survive a gunshot to the head."
I watch in stunned silence as Emily reaches over and yanks something from the assassin's belt, a wooden stake, its tip sharpened to a lethal point. Without hesitation, she raises it high and plunges it directly into the woman's heart.
The assassin's body arches one final time, a strangled gasp escaping her lips before she goes completely still. The glow fades from her eyes, leaving them dull and lifeless.
"What the fuck just happened?" I manage to croak out, my voice barely recognizable to my own ears. I'm trying desperately to pull my torn pants back together to cover myself, dignity being the least of my concerns but still somehow important.
Emily sits back on her heels, breathing heavily. "That was a hunter. A halfblood, apparently." She wipes blood—mine or the assassin's, I can't tell—from her face with the back of her hand. "Jesus Christ, Vincent. We need to get out of here before more show up."
I struggle to sit up, my head spinning from blood loss and trauma. "A hunter? Like... vampire hunter?"
"Yes," Emily confirms, holstering her gun.
Emily stares at me, her expression filled with horror. Her eyes keep darting between my blood-smeared face, my exposed lower half, and the corpse beside us. She's breathing hard, like she's fighting some internal battle.
"I cannot fucking be here right now," she finally chokes out, her voice tight with strain. Her hands are shaking violently as she fumbles with her pocket.
I try to sit up straighter, wincing at the pain radiating from my neck. "Emily, we need to…"
"No!" she snaps, cutting me off. "You don't understand. Your blood... and your..." she gestures vaguely toward the mess of bodily fluids covering me, disgust and hunger warring on her face. "I can't handle this. I'll lose control."
She pulls out her phone, taps something with trembling fingers, then tosses it at me. I barely manage to catch it before it hits the ground.
"I have to go before you get me killed," she says, already backing away, her movements jerky and desperate. "Maeve will tear me apart if I touch you."
"Wait, you can't just leave me here with a…" I gesture at the corpse beside me, but Emily's already turning away.
"Just call Maeve," she shouts over her shoulder, breaking into a full sprint toward the garage exit. Her footsteps echo against the concrete walls as she disappears into the darkness.
I look down at the phone in my hand, seeing Maeve's contact information displayed on the screen. The reality of what just happened hits me like a freight train, and I have to swallow hard to keep from throwing up.
With shaking fingers, I press the call button, trying desperately to angle my body away from the corpse without actually looking at it. The phone rings once, twice.
"What is it, Emily?" Maeve's voice cuts through, sharp and impatient.
"Maeve, it's Vincent," I say, my voice cracking. "There's been a problem."