Thumping bass. Elisa hated when people drove down her street with bass thumping as loud as it possibly could be. She had a sleeping kid for fucks sake, and work in three and a half hours. Money didnât grow on trees and she certainly didnât appreciate being woken up because the next door neighbor decided he needed his ear drums beat to shit in the middle of the night. With a huff, she jumped from her warm and comfortable bed, pulled on a robe and wrapped it around herself tightly before bounding down the stairs and out into the street.
When she arrived, she could hear the bass, but could see nothing else. Her brows raised up, teeth grinding out of frustration. There was nothing, except this strange filmy looking substance. She went to reach forward and smelled..baby powder? Something hauled her off her slipper clad feet, yanking her backward. Blonde strands of hair fell into her face and they were certainly not her own. And the only thing she could think was- had she left the door open. It struck her suddenly, as a barrel pressed against her temple, that the bass was definitely not music. And the grunts were not dancing. And she was an idiot for moving from the bed, with her sleeping child upstairs.
Leather met pavement. A hard, gritty sound like a stone in a meat grinder echoed beneath the vampireâs ear, his shoulder sliding across the road between towering apartment buildings. Phatality felt a soft chuckle leave his throat, quickly flipping himself up. Fist wrapped around the leather wrapped handle of that signature dagger, the vampire brought his fist up, shattering the nose of the lesser that came at him. He brought his fist down just as swiftly, plunging the blade deep through the white-haired monsterâs forehead.Â
Lessers werenât known for having the same light in their eyes as humans had. Instead, that inky black that filled their sickly scented souls, wickedly gleaming behind a vacant gaze seemed to dry and went matte as the true death came for them.Â
Breathing a huff that forced dark hair from hazel eyes, the warrior spun on heavy boots, his gaze meeting that of the small, scared woman with a gun pressed to her temple. The vampire smiled again, letting the blade fall from his hands. âWe both know you donât care about civilians. Let her go, and pick on someone your own size.âÂ
It was cliche, of course, but every brother needed a little mirth in their lives. Baseball and Cigarettes didnât suit him. But playing with his prey- that was fun.
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