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He looked like sunshine, his hair a wild gold, eyes a bright blue. His smile could light up the night sky, and he knew it. His skin was that of a golden God, and he smelled of the ocean - wild and turbulent. It was because of all of that and more that had her keeping her distance, her small form weaving in and out of the writhing bodies as she delivered drink after drink - but she felt him watching her. His gaze followed her when she ducked behind the bar, he was there when she emerged from the office, his hip pressed casually against the wall. When she turned around after dropping off a tray of drinks to the VIP, he was at the bottom of the glass stairs, his eyes unwavering as they followed her every move.

He resembled a hero - but he was evil incarnate.

It was the dark of his emotions that kept her at bay, the demonic tethers twisting into her chest. If she had the need for air, the raw animalistic nature of his aura would have stolen her breath and left her gasping. As it was, she could hardly keep her footing, her heel catching on the last step, sending her stumbling. He reached for her - and it was her vampiric speed that saved her from falling into his arms. She didn’t know him - she didn’t want to know him - but she felt as if he had already left his mark on her skin. “You should be more careful,” he whispered, his voice carrying over the music, the implications sending a shiver down her spine. Gritting her teeth, she kept her eyes focused ahead.

Across the counter - even from the distance she was at - she could see her thrall’s glare locked on the man behind her. She was only a human, with no power to speak of, but even she could pick up on the evil that radiated from him. When Fate put her hand on the door that separated the bar from the crowd, she gave a quick shake of her head, her hand lifting to ward her off. He was a monster - and she was far better off being his intended prey than the brunette. That didn’t stop her thrall from pulling out her phone, her fingers flying across the screen.

Whoever she messaged - Caligrace wouldn’t wait to find out.

She knew that she had to get the man away from her customers - away from her thrall - but that didn’t stop her legs from shaking as she carefully picked her way through the crowd. A smile was thrown here, a quick laugh there, a kiss to one of her regular’s cheeks - and then was at the back of the club, her hand lingering against the cold metal of the door that would lead them both outside. She didn’t look over her shoulder to find out if he had had followed - she knew he was there.

She could feel his animosity beating against her skin, the sadistic rage thickening and covering her soul like webbing. Bowing her head, she reached into the back pocket of her shorts, fingers tightening around the switchblade hidden there. Killing wasn’t in her nature. She wasn’t supposed to be violent. She wasn’t born to play this part, and yet, she still pushed the door open and stepped outside.

The moment she was free of the noise, the scent of alcohol and sweat, he was there. His hands crawling along her arms, lifting to her neck, tangling in her hair. He whispered something - but she wasn’t listening. She didn’t hear anything other than the blood rushing through his veins. His emotions overpowered her own, his darkness seeping into her heart, spreading like a wildfire through her system. Her eyes closed, and she trembled when his lips pressed to her hair - but it was with disgust.

The thought of him near her, the things that had to be going through his mind - it repulsed her. His lips against her ear caused her to choke, and her resolve shook. She wasn’t going to kill him - she wouldn’t kill him. He was human, no matter how vile, he was still alive. If she could hear his thoughts, she would know he deserved it - his emotions entangling within her was enough of a reason - but she couldn’t bring her hands to move. When his hands tightened against her throat, the effort painful, but not disorienting, she still didn’t pull the blade free.

Instead, she reached her free hand up, hand curling around his fingers to pry him free of her skin. She heard him curse, felt the shock he felt, and she turned. When her eyes met his - the moon bringing the fire within to life, she frowned. “You should leave. This isn’t a place for you,” she snapped, her voice wavering as she fought what was her - and what was the monster before her. She barely had time to register his hand moving, his knuckles cracking against her cheek, the taste of her blood - or the sound of Fate screaming her name.

With a pained sound, she trailed her tongue over her bloodied teeth, her eyes finding his again - and this time, catching the sight of his hand raised. Before he made contact a second time, she was moving, her fist slamming into his chest as she swept his legs out from beneath him. He wasn’t Bjorn. He wasn’t strong. He wasn’t powerful. He was just a man - a man that dropped like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. His chilled glare met hers, and as he struggled back to his feet, she curled her fingers into his hair, her body shaking.

She wasn’t a killer…
… but maybe she could learn to be.

Down on his knees, with his hands curled around her wrists, the stranger no longer resembled a threat. In fact, from this angle - he looked almost… pathetic. The fear that gleamed in his eyes had her resolve wavering, another shudder racing through her body as her fingers started to loosen their hold on his hair. The product that he used stuck to her skin, and she found herself focusing on that, instead of the way he watched her. The way it coated her skin like a thin layer of grease, the chemical smell that caught on the wind; she registered it all as she stood over him, her hair brushing across her face.

It was a strange sight, even in her own mind, to see herself in this position with a man twice her size.

His animosity beat at her, the darkness spreading quicker through her veins. She was aware of every rush of anger, every pang of desire, every craving and feeling of lust that cycled through him - even now, as he was at her mercy, he felt want for her. Acid coated her tongue at that knowledge, and she almost pulled her hand from his hair. Touching him sent a shiver of unease through her, and it only grew the longer she stood there. To her, it felt like hours as she battled herself - but the truth was, it had only been seconds.

Behind her, Fate was frantic, begging her to come back inside, telling her that she’d already called for someone else to handle it, but she listened to none of it. Her mind was in turmoil, her heart fighting between what was good and evil. He was evil. She could feel it, twisting and tainting her, tarnishing her soul with its filth - but he hadn’t hurt her. Did his intent matter in the grand scheme of things? Here he was now, on his knees, his heart beating like a drum that echoed inside of her head. She could taste that hint of fear on her tongue, and again, she wavered. It was that second hesitation that sealed his fate.

A few clicks of a clock was all it took for her to realize her mistake.

When her fingers loosened, just a fraction, her lips parting to demand - once again - that he leave, he moved. She should have saw it coming, she should have paid more attention, but she hadn’t - and the pain she felt when the blade slid between her ribs was her consequence. A white light flashed behind her eyes, and behind her, Fate screamed - but it was her cry of pain that brought her back to reality. The hand holding his hair suddenly tightened, but the damage had already been done. Her blood poured freely from the wound, staining her clothes and pooling at her feet. His hand still remained around the hilt, and when she felt him twist the blade, she grabbed his arm and twisted it back, the resounding crack of his bone echoing through the alley set her teeth on edge.

“I was so close to letting you go,” she whispered, her nose wrinkling as she tasted her blood on her tongue. Internal bleeding? Shaking the thought from her mind, she dropped his broken arm, so it fell limp at his side. Without missing a beat, she pulled the switchblade from her back pocket and flipped it open, watching as the moon danced across the surface. Tears burned her eyes - but by some miracle, she managed to keep them at bay. He struggled beneath her, his growls - which she was certain were meant to scare her - vibrated from his throat - the very throat that she rested the blade against. She wanted to look away as the first drop of blood formed, but she couldn’t. Instead, she watched as she jerked her arm to the side, the blade slicing clean through his skin, his blood pooling against her flesh before she released him. He collapsed to the ground, body twitching in the last throes of life, and she stared at him.

It wasn’t the knowledge of his death that ran through her mind, as she watched his blood mix with hers on the cold cement. No, it was Bjorn’s voice - his words in her head.

Turn every loss into a reason you never lose again.

His death - his death wasn’t the loss. The pain in her side, the blade that still punctured her skin, that was the loss. That shouldn’t have happened. Lifting her hand, she curved her pale fingers around the hilt of the blade and slid it free, her breath leaving her in a pained, shallow scream before she dropped the knife to the ground. Her hand cupped around her side, her blood flowing between her fingers as Fate rushed to her side - and still, she stared at the once attractive man, calculating her mistakes.

With each second that passed, though, her resolve grew, the fire burning brighter in her eyes.

She thought she wasn't a killer...
... but a killer she became.

The smell of old tobacco and sweat filled her office, and she fought the urge to cover her nose - or grab the bottle of febreeze hidden beneath her desk. The cop in front of her was lean, though she could see just the hint of his muscles beneath his uniform. His beard, trimmed short against his skin, gave him an edge that would have made him attractive in his younger years, but now made him appear as if he was trying too hard to return to his youth - as did the boy-band haircut. When he shifted, the leather of her chair squeaking beneath his weight, she simply quirked her brow. He was waiting her out, waiting to see if she cracked, while also being unabashed with the way his dull, nearly lifeless brown eyes swept across her body.

He didn’t speak.
Neither did she.

On the outside, she was calm, her smile in place. It wasn’t the same smile she used when she was around her friends, no. This smile radiated charm and innocence, and though it didn’t reach her eyes, she knew that it didn’t matter. He had bought into it the moment he stepped through her door to find her standing against her desk, her hands folded in front of her and her face open, young, and carefree. She had watched as the toughness drained from him, and when he shifted uncomfortably before taking the seat she had offered, she tried not to laugh. She knew what she must have looked like to him standing at a whopping five foot three, with her angelic eyes and charming smile - and nothing about her appearance screamed killer.

He practically stumbled over himself during the introductions, trying to make sure she knew that this was just procedure, but then he flipped out his notebook and just turned those eyes on her. Of course, she had known this was coming. It hadn’t taken long for talk of her victim’s disappearance to start circulating the club. His friends were already searching for him by the time she had made it back inside (still covered in blood), and she had to leave Fate to deal with the downfall while she ducked into her private bathroom and fought to hold herself together. She knew that it wouldn’t be long before the cops made their grand entrance, and she was right.

It had only taken nineteen hours before the detective was at her door.

“Miss Summers,” his voice broke through her thoughts, and she barely stopped herself from jumping in her seat. Any sudden movement would show weakness, and that was something she couldn’t afford. “You realize that this interview would go a lot quicker if you spoke…” The gruff edge was meant to soothe, but she found herself thinking of gravel and ash. It was unbecoming of a man of his stature, and she had to fight the urge to pour him a glass of water in hopes that it would clear out whatever was lodged in his throat. Instead, she kept her hands on her desk, her nails idly toying with the edge of a memo, the bright pink paper catching her eye for a second.

“You haven’t asked me any questions, Detective. I’m not sure what you’re wanting from me. I’ve already told you that I have no idea who you’re talking about. You’ve seen my club - and this is a slow day. I can hardly account for every man or woman that ventures inside.” She kept her tone light, her words flowing freely and without pause. There was no inflection, no hitch and no wavering. The woman that was sitting behind the desk wasn’t the same woman from ten minutes ago. She had transformed and fell easily into her role, even as she screamed inside of her own mind. Her fire was tampered, even as he leaned forward, eyes narrowing.

“Of course, and I understand that, but there are witness accounts of you leaving with him.”

For a moment, her world stalled. If her heart still beat, she knew that it would have been threatening to erupt from her chest. Thankfully, she was dead, and able to keep herself from having any outward reaction to those few words. Her mind worked quickly to come up with a lie, and she even allowed her smile to slip just a little bit, as if she were insulted by the news.

“I make it a rule not to leave with any of my customers, Detective. Aside from that, the only time I left the club - other than to go home - was to take the trash out on my way to do inventory.” Her head tilted when she finished the statement, and she made a show of tapping at the leather-bound book at her side - which, thankfully, was filled with the correct date and times to coincide with her tale. “I’m not trying to discredit my customers, but this is a club. Intoxication paired with the light show we had going the night you claim he disappeared can lead to faulty memories,” she chuckled, her laughter sugary-sweet. It unnerved her, using the full brunt of her allurist charm on the man, but she knew she didn’t have any other option.

“That’s true, and you can trust me when I say I will be talking to them again. I don’t think you had anything to do with it, Miss Summers. I’ve been a cop twenty years, and I can tell that you don’t have a evil bone in your body,” he said, his smile almost friendly, and she swallowed down the acid that coated her tongue. “However, I do still have a few more questions. While I don’t think that you had anything to do with it, that doesn’t mean someone else didn’t. I have reports saying that Mister Robertson was rather… uh… intrigued by you. Is there someone in your life that would take offense to that? A jealous boyfriend or ex perhaps?”

The second the words left his thinned lips, she had to fight back a laugh. It was almost straight out of the crime shows that Fate forced her to watch - blame the boyfriend or lover when there was nothing to pin on the original suspect. “I assure you, Detective, there is no man in my life that would be jealous because someone showed interest in me.” Her hand finally moved then, to push her hair over her shoulder as she watched him with her brow still raised.

“Ah, well, what if they had heard rumors that you left with someone?” He seemed uncomfortable when he posed the question, and for a second, she almost pitied him, before she remembered her role. “It’s the same answer, Detective.” She kept her response quick and concise, already growing irritated with this line of questioning. She was many things - but she didn’t date men on the fly, nor did she lift her skirts for them in back-alleys. Logically, she knew that he had to ask these questions - but the implications set her teeth on edge. It must have shown, because he was suddenly straightening, his thick fingers going to his collar to adjust it.

“Again, I’m sorry, Miss Summers. It’s protocol. From all reports, you’re an excellent citizen and your customers - and staff - love you. While I don’t think you had any involvement, a man is missing, and it’s unusual for him to not check in. We have to follow all leads, but I think that’s enough for now. I’m sure you’re busy,” he stammered, already moving to his feet.

She followed him, her steps light as she made her way around the desk, her hand already outstretched. “Of course, I understand, Detective. If you have any questions, you can ask me - or my staff. I’ll also have security tapes -- “ She had made sure to hack away any evidence in those -“brought by your office by morning. If there’s anything else, my assistant, Fate, will be glad to help you.” Her smile remained in place, even when his clammy hand enclosed hers.

It wasn’t until he was out the door that her head dropped, her fingers moving to pinch the bridge of her nose. She knew that they would never find the body - and all evidence of the crime had been wiped clean. The man, apparently known as Benjamin Robertson, simply ceased to exist.

She only prayed that they moved on quickly.