1. Delilah

1

DELILAH

F amilies who slay their enemies together, stay together. From the time I could first walk, I remember helping my assassin parents destroy and dispose of their targets. Most kids' parents took them to the park or the movies… But not mine. They took me to dark alleys, clubs, and lavish homes to teach me creative ways to end human and paranormal lives–house fire, break-in, poisoning, brutal murder, and death-by-silver for immortal targets. I have a full education in extermination , as Mom always says. It used to be a family business, but she disappeared a year ago, so now it's just Dad and me.

The Sangre family–predators of the night and bringers of death. Malachi, a vampire with a penchant for knives. Dahlia, a banshee with a wail that can turn bodies to corpses. And me, Delilah, their hybrid daughter. Biting, wailing, slicing, and dismembering people that are either so hated or inconvenient that someone else paid the exorbitant fee we charge to get rid of them permanently. We specialize in taking in targets that others find difficult to handle. High profile people, other assassins, politicians, celebrities and the like. The mean streets of New York City are chock full of ‘em. Everyone here thinks they're an important someone who's invincible…until they meet us and painfully realize they're not.

This city may be hard to make it in, but it's actually quite kind to a vampire and a banshee-vampire hybrid. Dad and I rake in the cash. Death is one of those constant things in life. I tend to find that many of the people we're tasked to kill have earned their deaths. We've killed pedophiles, criminals, adulterers, con-artists, and abusers.

Like our current target, Keith Winton-Daley. Or at least that's the alias he's currently known under. He's a six hundred year old dragon shifter who can't hack making his money via investments and entrepreneurism like the rest of his kind, so he accumulated his wealth by marrying rich widows and killing them. He's on widow number nine now. Nine ! Nine women have fallen victim to this asswipe, and nothing can legally be done because of a lack of evidence, so they claim. I think they're on the take, because my research showed enough evidence to convict this punk ten times over. The only reason he's on our radar is because his current wife's son came to us, begging us to save his mother. As soon as Dad heard his story, he was in.

Dad may be a big, scary vampire, but he's a softie to his core.

"These scumbags are all the same," he whispers to me from the shadows in the alleyway. The gray streak in the front of his wavy black hair stands out in the night.

Across the street, Daley strolls out of a strip club with zero shame, a dancer on each arm as he makes his way into his car.

"He really is… looks like a total Wall Street douche bag, too." If I had a dime for every time a handsome man ended up being a rancid piece of garbage, I could retire to a beautiful island somewhere, tequila sunrise in hand and my bare toes in the sand.

Sigh . Dating in NYC is impossible.

"The tracker on his car is going toward his secret apartment in Cobble Hill. Want to meet him there or let him settle in first?" Dad smiles at me, and his infectious bright mood makes me feel a little less ragey. He hands me a donut and I take a huge bite, then hand it back to him.

"Let's finish this, and then we'll go surprise him. We haven't done a bust-and-gut in a while," I answer.

"Good thinking, girlie. You get really murderous when you haven't eaten. Can't have low blood sugar on the job." He takes a bite, then wrinkles his nose in thought. "We should pass that taco place Mom loves on the way and get the variety eight-pack."

It's been over a year since Mom's disappearance, and my heart aches whenever I think of her. We have no clue where she is, but we at least know she's alive. Vampires in the same family line can sense each other, but banshees don't have that ability. Dad swears on his mate bond that she's safe. I truly hope so, especially for his sake. Fated mates shouldn't be apart for extended periods of time, due to the disastrous consequences when their souls are apart too long.

It's rare that fated mates come from different species of paranormals, but it does happen. Dad told me the story of how they met so many times, I can recite it from memory.

They were contracted to take out the same hit and he took one look at her glowing red eyes across a crowded underground fight club and it was a done deal. He let her take the target down, then treated her to an early breakfast. They both ordered the same meal without discussing it first, a meat lover's omelet and a side of home fries with sauteed onions on top. Mom said it was a perfect match to withstand the test of time. True love…

If she loves Dad and I so much, why did she leave us behind? Mom was all about her family, and she'd never willingly abandon us. Dad has faith and thinks she'll walk through the front door one day, safe and in one piece with one hell of a story to tell, but I'm not so optimistic. Every clue I find leads to a dead end. It's hard to feel anything except frustration and disappointment. And a wee bit of abandonment.

"Yeah, let's get some tacos and eat them on the ride. Then we'll kill this shit-stain and go home. If it doesn't take too long, we can finish the movie we started yesterday."

"Sounds good."

Four tacos, two churros, and a cinnamon-dolce horchata later, I'm so bloated I may as well sit on this asshole and glute crush him. All those squats and hip thrusts I do at the gym shouldn't go to waste, and I'm round as fuck right now. I'm curvy, so technically I'm round every day, but right now I look like someone knocked me up seven months ago.

I pat my stomach, then spin on my boot heels and dramatically sigh. "Dad, I have some news…" He rolls his eyes at me in exasperation, the irises a hazel-gold hue. "You're going to be a Pop-Pop."

"Ha-ha, funny. You're not allowed to date, but nice try," he grouses.

Even at twenty-five, he still hates the idea of his baby girl meeting someone and leaving the nest. Mom feels the exact opposite. I can still hear one of the last things she said to me before she disappeared. We went on a mother-daughter hit, and were stalking our target in an alleyway.

"It won't kill you to go out and meet some nice men. I don't even care if they're immortal or not. I just don't want to see you alone. You're young, you should be dating, fucking around. Making memories you can embarrass your future daughter with in an alleyway."

Other women may have felt scandalized, but my mom has zero filters and says whatever the fuck she wants, when she wants. Dahlia is sex positive. The nutbag gifted me a dildo last year with a card that said "If you won't go find some fun, make your own!"

The year before, she took me to Night Crawlers, a vampire music festival. Every time she got hit on she'd say " Have you met my daughter Delilah?! She's single and ready to mingle!"

It's not that I don't want to meet someone. I do. But I don't think it's worth being with anyone beyond a hook up if they're not my fated mate. If I don't have what my parents have—that all consuming, eternal kind of love and devotion—then why would I want anything at all?

"Target confirmed. He's in his living room with his lady friends," I tell him, to distract myself from my depressing thoughts.

He leads us down the hallway, and I cover him, eyes on a swivel scanning the corridor for threats. Even the ritzy apartment complexes can have their fair share of characters. And even though we tend to blend in, not everyone is friendly to paranormals. Some people don't even believe in us, and we prefer to fly under the radar. Dad can blend in well if he keeps his fangs hidden, but Mom and I need to work harder—we stick out like sore thumbs with our porcelain skin and fiery red hair.

When we get to the door, Dad doesn't bother to knock. He kicks it in, in true dramatic vampire fashion, and shouts, "We're here to murder Keith Winton-Dumbass."

The moron is high as fuck, his eyes glasses over as he gets his dick sucked by one of his lady friends while the other does a line of coke off his glass coffee table. She's cutting it with a credit card—how stereotypical.

"It's Winton- Daley ," he scoffs. "Get the fuck out of here. I'm occupied."

My Dad sighs, then focuses on the girls, manipulating them telepathically to exit the scene without making a fuss. We aren't about killing innocents. As they walk out of the apartment, I get a view of his wet dick… It's small. Like micro-small. It's a shame, really. That poor woman must have felt like she was sucking on a Ring Pop.

He finally realizes that he's about to die, and jumps up from the couch, stumbling as he pulls a gun from the holster under his jacket. He fires it at Dad, who doesn't even flinch when the bullet rips through his chest. Dad digs it out, then wipes it on his pant leg and pockets it. His chest slowly starts to repair itself as his laughter rings through the room.

"I'm keeping that one for the collection," he quips to me. "I don't think I have this type of bullet yet."

As I previously said, my mom was crazy-town, and like attracts like. So Dad is just as insane and has no filter just like her. He really does have a collection of bullets people shot at him. And he shows them to anyone who wants to see.

"There's no need for your gun, because regular bullets can't kill us." I roundhouse kick the gun out of his hand, and his face blanches.

Just accept that you're going to die so the clean up is easier, I telepathically coax him. Mental manipulation is my favorite power. My second is my banshee scream. I telepathically tell dad to put his ear plugs in, and let it rip.

"Fuck you, cunts!" Daley screams. He tries to punch me, but it's a half ass move. He eventually drops to his knees, holding his head as his eyes and nose bleed. The panic in his eyes is beautiful, and he has no clue what's happening. I tackle him to the ground wrenching his arm into a submission hold.

"Come on, Keith. Settle down and accept death," I calmly croon. "We know all about your con. Marrying rich women and then becoming a serial widower… That's so uncool."

He struggles, trying his hardest to shift into his dragon form. I'm assuming he can't because he's on a shift-blocker. Dragon's tempers make controlling their shift difficult. It's doubtful he took the risk of all the human widows he married accidentally finding out they married a dragon shifter.

His skin slightly heats, but he's still rattled from my wail.

You're going to stop fighting me, and accept your death, I telepathically manipulate him.

"I'll give you triple what you're being paid!" he cries.

"Nope," Dad boringly draws. "I was going to be generous and let you pick your death, even though you're a scumbag, but then you called us cunts. That's a derogatory, toxic term. You're part of the problem, bro."

Keith sobs like a fucking baby. Ew .

"I say we slit his throat with our Damascus steel dagger, make it look like a murder, and then raid his dragon hoard," I tease to get a rise out of him.

Dragons are possessive over their treasure hoards. Even though I manipulated him into being immobilized, his eyes still flicker with a dim fire.

Dad pretends to think about it. Slitting throats is his preferred way to kill his targets. "Anything for the best daughter ever."

He kneels next to me and with a precise sweep across Keith's neck, he's dead.

"Another hit in the books," Dad sing-songs as he gets up, like he does after every successful job.

"Families that slay together stay together," I reply.

Mom used to say that line, but now I do. At least until she comes home…

"Come on, let's watch our show," he excitedly blurts on our way out. "I have some A negative blood in the fridge for us. You know how hard that is to find."

I give him credit. I won't be able to ever feel excitement again, not authentically, until I find Mom.