Panic swarmed Elise’s senses. Her heart spasmed, her body froze, and for a second, she returned to this very same moment five years ago.
A wild fury lit Layla’s eyes. Before, Elise had convinced herself that the feral state Layla attacked her in had been involuntary; the ire in her eyes was the kind that was only conjured up by newly turned, starved reapers.
But today was different. Layla was watching her with pure malice. Elise knew it was not merely an instinctive frenzy but a rage-induced hunt—personal and set to kill.
“Back to ruin more lives, are you?” Layla hissed, fingers tightening on the knife’s handle. She shoved Elise back against the wall so hard, Elise’s skull snapped with a searing pain. “Mine wasn’t enough for you?”
Anger flared in Elise, her chest going hot. She pressed forward, and the blade bit into her throat. The close contact pushed Layla slightly off-balance. It was all Elise needed to back away from her and lift the heavy gold hand mirror from the bedside table. Warmth trickled down her throat, and as Elise raised the mirror, her blood splattered onto the glass.
“You’re the one who put a knife to my throat. And you scared my sister. I’ll fucking kill you—” A snarl seared through Elise’s words. She didn’t think about how hard it would be to kill a reaper without proper training and weapons. She didn’t think about the force and blessed metal that was necessary to stop an ancient reaper heart. All Elise could process was her own rage, the stifling, burning anger that pulsed through her at the thought of Layla anywhere near her sister. I will not lose someone else to a reaper.
Elise’s hand tightened around the mirror’s handle, then she threw herself at Layla. Layla’s nails raked down her arm and Elise was able to graze a sharp corner of the mirror against Layla’s cheek.
Sterling came rushing into the room, gun raised. He stepped between them and threw one arm out to prevent Elise from coming forward.
By the time Sterling had a steady stance and aim, Layla was at the window. Her eyes still fixed on Layla, Elise reached for the other gun in Sterling’s holster. She pulled the trigger and the window shattered around Layla as the bullet erupted.
The young reaper merely cracked a cruel smile. Sterling’s arms closed around Elise as she tried to lunge forward once more. Layla leapt out of the window and into the night.
The drop from the second-story window jolted Layla’s bones. Anger blurred her vision. Everywhere she looked, she saw red—vicious, crimson cracks split her focus. But with ire fueling her adrenaline and Elise’s blood filling her nose, Layla felt nearly invincible. She lifted her hand, watching the blood drip from beneath her nails. Whatever marks she left on Elise—Layla hoped they scarred.
With a bitter smile, Layla licked her fingers. No matter how many times she fed, the taste of human blood always sent an electric current through her. Elise’s tasted even better than she remembered. Layla was half tempted to believe she could pick out every ounce of fear and anger in just a drop of Elise’s blood.
“Franklin!” A distant light sparked as a man’s voice rang around the dark yard.
Nearby lay the guard Layla had knocked unconscious in order to slip into Elise’s room undetected. He stirred as the other guard continued to call his name.
Imagining the look on Tobias Saint’s face when he realized his men had failed at their job that night almost made Layla smile. As she stepped over the man, pain shot across her ribs. Lifting her shirt, she cursed. The bullet had grazed her. Though the cuts from the glass and the mirror were already sealing themselves shut, this bullet wound would not heal on its own at normal reaper speed. The Saint steel bullet meant to stop reaper hearts blocked the properties in reaper blood that sped up their healing time. Blood soaked her shirt, already draining her energy.
Normally Layla could go a week without a full feeding, but the lost blood made a fresh hunger rise in her. And the taste of Elise still fresh on her tongue released a frenzied need in her. She wiped the blood off her face, wincing a bit when her cut stung, and stalked off the Saint estate grounds.
A melancholy song from a nearby jazz club greeted her as soon as she made it onto St. Nicholas Avenue.
Gee, but it’s hard to love someone
When that someone don’t love you.
I’m so disgusted, heartbroken too.
I’ve got those downhearted blues…
Layla’s mind wandered to those old desires of being in a dance studio and letting the music lead her body. It had been years, yet the urges never left her. Layla clenched her fists and stalked forward. With their heads down and gazes averted, no one on the street knew a monster lurked beside them. She wondered how quickly people would scatter if she should pick a target in the middle of the street and rip their throat open with her teeth. The image of blood spraying across the damp sidewalk and over her face made her throat tighten with anticipation. Her fingers twitched by her sides and she smirked.
Such wicked and vile thoughts would send her straight to hell if it truly existed. Layla used to curse herself for every drop of blood she enjoyed, but as the years went on and her days grew longer, her heart grew less tender. It was her nature now, as a reaper, to kill and to consume blood like wine.
“Watch it,” someone growled.
Layla stopped and stared ahead at the two Black men leaving a club. A white man at the entrance hissed after them. He lifted a cigarette to his mouth, his glare never leaving the two Black men even as they walked away.
Instantly, Layla found her victim.
The second the man realized there was too much wind in the open street for his cigarette to light, he went into the alley. Keeping her footsteps light, Layla followed. She heard him grumbling under his breath, but stopped listening when a slur slipped past his lips.
“What was that?” Layla asked.
The man jerked back, stunned. His mouth hung open and the cigarette dropped onto the ground between them. “Excuse you?” he demanded.
Layla stomped on the cigarette. When she looked up at him, his eyes flashed with fear. The bloodthirsty look in her eyes must have been especially apparent now. Layla made sure he got a good long look. And as realization sparked in his expression, she pounced.
Despite being a full two heads shorter than this man, she took him down in an instant. Her teeth locked around his throat first, tearing into his flesh and ripping out his vocal cords so no one could hear his distress. Smooth muscle snapped between her teeth, and blood flowed into her mouth.
Warmth unfurled in her body, satisfaction reaching a blinding peak as blood filled her. Nothing compared to this feeling. Layla felt as if she had been struck by lightning, the heat searing through her body and igniting her nerves.
The man had gone still already. By the time Layla finished with him, he was completely slumped against the wall, his mouth slack while blood leaked down his shirtfront. Layla knew she needed to clean up the scene, but her hands were shaking too hard, and her concentration was quickly being ravaged by the adrenaline-inducing effects of human blood.
She stared down at the lifeless body, warm blood still dripping from her mouth. “Shit,” Layla hissed. She had no one to blame but herself for tonight’s carnage. And she would have to pay for it.