9. Elijah

M y bat in one hand, this claw thing in the other—fuck this bitch. It’s going to feel incredible to gut her. Breathing in deep through my nose, I can already smell her cries. My tongue rubs against my fangs, now decorating my canines. Pushing it against one of the sharp tips, copper causing my taste buds to ignite with hunger. Licking my lips, our footsteps are drowned out by a whistle.

Looking at Rain, I find her looking at me curiously. Then I realize it’s me.

What is going on? I don’t whistle. I don’t care enough to whistle.

“E, I think you’re excited?” My little bat says while a large grin adorns her broken-looking, delicate face. My brows scrunch. “About what?”

Rain’s arm wraps around mine as her fingertips trace my forearm. “It’s okay. You’re mine now, remember? Let me help you.” Her statement confuses me, but I leave it be as I hear a male voice faintly off in the distance say, “Come on, Franny. Not tonight. They will fucking slaughter you if they find out.”

The Pawn. The prey.

“This is the one night they have free fucking rein on this place. No one would stop them from killing you here in the middle of the street. Fuck.”

He’s been compromised. This isn’t a Pawn playing the part. This is a boy who has gotten his dick wet and wants to save her.

We stop, still out of sight of our prey. Rain turns her head back, eyes squinting. “She’s gone.”

Another gust of wind blows, and hair gets stuck on her face. Reaching up, I brush it off. “Nah, she’s always around.”

“You’re being overdramatic. I am family. They won’t touch me.”

There she is. Overconfident. Because we will do more than touch her. We will make her scream, cry, and hurt.

“E, I have an idea. She doesn’t know me. No one in town has seen me before. What if I go in first? Then you sneak around and come in from the other side. I’ll keep them focused on me.” My little bat is ready to play.

“No. You are not going in alone.” My response is final. I cannot lose her.

Her nostrils flare as her eyes glare at me. Fucking stunning.

“Nothing will happen to me. Plus, I will throat punch the bitch if she tries anything. And I’m not talking about Francesca.”

Looking up at the night sky, I blow out a deep breath, shaking my head exasperated. “Fine. Go.”

Soft lips kiss the underside of my chin. By the time I look down, her feet are already carrying her forward. Absent-mindedly, my thumb rubs the cool metal of the claw as I continue to take her in. The pink gem at the end of the plug can faintly be seen through her white skirt as she walks under the lampposts.

As she turns the corner, I can hear her cheery voice mixed with the act of confusion when she greets them. “Hey, I’m new here. I live in the apartments down the road and noticed the streets suddenly went empty. But then I saw you two and thought I would come and ask, where is everyone?”

Swinging my bat in the air, it’s finally fucking time.

Both just stare at me.

Francesca is looking me up and down with looks of disgust and judgment radiating from her.

She is pretty if you like that full glam look all the time. Her entire face is done up, with smoky eyes, large fake lashes, bright blush, and contour, topped with a pale pink lip. Her hair is bright blonde—blood will look beautiful stained in it. Finally my eyes take in her outfit, an army green sweat suit paired with white sneakers.

It looks comfortable, I wonder where she got it from?

The man next to her must be the Pawn.

Sandy short blond hair, a chiseled jawline, with thin lips and bushy brows. He is also keeping it casual in black sweats, black sneakers, and a black tee. One arm is bare, and the other is full of ink. He seems like a pretty boy and is the first to speak. “You should go home. Lock your doors and don’t come out until morning.”

My head tilts, acting confused by his statement. Before I can question him further, Francesa speaks up, “What the fuck is painted on your face?”

Hm, well, she's rude.

With a smile, I politely respond, “The same shit painted on yours, makeup.”

“You stupid bitch.” Francesca spits out, then stomps toward me.

Her face is beautiful when filled with rage—passion. Biting my lip, impulse takes over. Reaching my hands out in front of me, they grip her face. She is slightly taller than me, but that doesn’t matter.

She tries to pull back, but I dig my fingers into her cheeks as my thumbs hold her chin. I smash my lips against hers. This was never part of the plan. But plans change.

Our lips part as our tongues intertwine, dancing instead of battling for dominance. Kissing her is sensual. My pussy tingles and I rub my thighs together, the plug and piercing add another level of torture inside of me. Tiny hands touch my skin, and fingers wrap around my wrists, but she doesn’t stop me. Francesca’s soft lips continue kissing mine. All the sensations are overwhelming, but I cannot get enough.

Before it can get any further, a deep and angry voice interrupts us. “Get your lips off her… NOW!”

All breathing has stopped, and our bodies are frozen.

Elijah.