#tamaramary

“You’re a hunter?” Tamara asks disbelievingly. This girl looks too innocent and spoiled for this life, but the ease with which she holds her weapon leaves no doubt.

“You could thank me, you know,” the blonde woman says, wiping her knife on a rag she retrieved from her pack. She throws Tamara a look, almost as if she expected her to move on by now. And Tamara wants to - needs to; if this hunt is taken care of then she can go back to the more pressing case that tore her family apart - but this woman stirs curiosity in her gut. “Did you really think you could take on a vampire with that?” She looks pointedly at the stake in Tamara’s grip.

“I’m not stupid,” Tamara defends herself. Her cheeks burn hot. “But I wasn’t expecting a vamp to pounce on me in the middle of a zombie hunt.” 

“Bet you weren’t expecting me either.” The woman’s expression is amused. “I’m Mary.”

She extends a hand, thin wrist encircled with protection charms, and automatically Tamara clasps their sweaty palms together. Mary’s grip is firm.