18. One-Star Yelp Review

The night she first left, Ashton thought she’d chosen to take her time returning to piss him off. He had been sure she’d come back by dawn.

He’d arrived at the factory for their lesson as ordered that night. Prepared to bleed and learn some more. But her scent trail there was old, thin and stale.

The place was deader than he was. Claw marks and black dried blood marked much of the walls and the floors he paced. Mind whirring, lips pressed to a flat white line as he waited.

There was a sensation in his chest akin to a reel of thread unspooling inch by inch. It was weirdly subtle to start with.

He assumed his mind had taken a jaunt down poetry lane, Liora was rubbing off on him, and didn’t examine it. He stayed until 4 a.m. before finally admitting defeat and slinking back to the hotel.

The city had gone eerily silent for the hunters. He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of them since the church. How peculiar.

How unlike them. He still had eyes in the back of his head as he ran back to ensure he wouldn’t get ambushed. The quiet in the suite was a tomb. Her silence was a personal insult.

He grabbed maybe an hour of sleep before the sun came up, its weak light feeling like a spotlight on his predicament. He holed up in Liora’s room.

Her scent of pomegranates blended with his bergamot, and the ether tang of dark magic lingered. It was a taunt that sent tingles rolling down his spine.

Her special brand of torture. He set his laptop on her vanity. The crack in the glass from last time mocked him as he scratched the back of his neck and snooped.

He hunted through her room for anything she might not want him to find, but it was oddly bare of personal items. There was no secret diary, no trace of where she might’ve gone.

Nothing, only clothes in the closet, a bottle of bourbon on the nightstand that he’d already drunk half of, and weapons stuffed in every nook and cranny. He chuckled every time he found more.

She had a small armoury stashed in there. An alarming number of throwing knives greeted him as he pulled a trunk out from under the bed. There was nothing else hiding beneath the blades.

They looked mortal forged as he palmed one and held it to the light. Steel. With runic symbols carved into the hilt. He put it all back.

He didn’t want to learn how good she might be while tossing them at him. He also wondered when they’d show up as they trained.

Best not to think about that. Don’t give her any ideas.

He had a wicked case of Déjà vu as he catalogued the details. She had made the bed, and the burgundy silk sheets still smelled of her skin.

“Where are you, Red?” He muttered as he sat down at the vanity and began his online vigil.

Just like old times, he thought with a raspy laugh that died in his throat.

It had only been a few weeks. Weeks of his life had passed in a war of blood and ice, fire and venom.

A few weeks since a demonic pain in the ass had crash-landed in his life and redecorated his entire existence with shadows and denial. He frowned, refocused and tunnelled into his servers.

He told himself it was all strategy. Survival and control as he hacked into databases that stank of occult code. He’d found the demon’s digital fingerprint before she went hunting for him.

Barbatos.

The name was a splinter under his fingernail. He sighed. Every cell in his body told him to follow her, but he couldn’t. He had a name. It was all he fucking had. A username with no IP address.

He spent the first day and the night trying to brute-force his way through the bastard’s wards. The firewall’s were too strong. And they were alive. Shifting and re-knitting themselves the instant he tore them down.

He growled as it wore on, hands fisting as he fought the urge to smash them through the screen. His failures laughed at him as he updated the encrypted log he’d been keeping for Liora.

It was a folder full of every piece of sordid history she’d spat at him while they trained. Pieces of the screaming, scheming puzzle that was his succubus.

He ignored the other, more... human list of things he’d noticed about her over these weeks.

File: Liora_OBSERVATIONS.txt. [Encrypted.] Access Denied. Smart.

It contained a log of blasphemies and obsessions he didn’t want to look at too closely. He kept on trying throughout the night.

By day two, the sun rose bright and obnoxious as the chill crept in.

An unnatural cold that differed from his usual kind. His cold was a tool, a weapon he wielded. The overwhelming need to feed became impossible to ignore.

She’d had him on the edge for weeks, only feeding him a few drops of her blood a day.

“If you wanted to make a point, I got it. Loud and clear, demon,” he said under his breath as he stretched his stiff arms above his head.

He glanced at the empty liquor bottle on the vanity. He’d run through her supply of bourbon that she’d laced with her blood and venom the day before.

He’d be up shit creek without a paddle if she didn’t come back soon. She couldn’t feed on anyone else.

He didn’t want to confirm he couldn’t either yet. This was a glitch or a system failure. And that weird ‘spool of thread’ sensation in his chest? It wasn’t a pretty metaphor anymore.

It pulled tauter and tauter as the hours slipped away, like someone was on the other end, steadily unreeling him. On the morning of day three, it hit him like her heeled boot to his gut.

If this is her idea of foreplay, we’re going to have a nice chat about boundaries the second she gets back.

The thread snapped tight as he walked down the dim hall, yanking at his sternum with a violence that stole his breath. He caught himself on the bedroom doorframe as he stumbled.

His hand went to his chest, eyes dropping as he considered it. It felt like ice needles injecting themselves into his soft tissue. It was a cellular chill that his own power couldn’t touch.

It was because of her absence; he knew it, or something primal in him did. She’d gone too far away. It was a void in him where her fire should be.

He paced her room, his movements growing stiffer, clumsier. He’d bitten his thumbnail to the quick, but kept gnawing at it. His frost sputtered over the vanity in a thick, useless rime instead of its usual fractal patterns.

It wouldn’t obey him as hunger ate through his gut with fangs sharper than any blade. It was lagging, starved for her shadow’s processing power.

The bond. It wasn’t the simple closed feeding loop he’d thought it was. This was far stronger, much older than that.

It was a full-system tether and a magical transaction. A sharing of her power. And it was freezing solid. Freezing him with it.

He ground his teeth. Eyes narrowed and nostrils flaring as he cursed her name. “Really? You’re going to starve me to death? Nice.”

His mind rambled; the Yelp review I’ll leave for this bond will be scathing. One star. The bonded partner is inconsiderate and forgets me. She may have gotten herself killed.

He sincerely doubted she’d died, but his human side still fretted. He kicked the wall. His boot dented the plaster.

It didn’t help, but the damage matched how he felt. His hands raked through his hair, one sliding down his face as he groaned.

His throat had gone desert-dry. He was desiccating. Every time he swallowed, it felt as though he’d eaten glass.

He huffed through his nose as he cracked his neck. He wanted to beat something bloody as he hit wall after wall in his search.

It was a low burn in his gut, the only warm thing left. It roiled under his skin, muscles coiling for a fight he knew was on the horizon. She’d ghosted him.

She’d walked into some demonic black site and ghosted the connection, leaving him with this—this wintry ache running through his veins.

He clung to that slight bit of warmth and used it to sharpen his mind as it tried to focus on his slow starvation. Under the pressure building too high, another alert popped up: what if she couldn’t come back?

What if something had happened? His stomach dropped. A fine tremor ran through his fingers. His flatlined pulse stung. Shit.

Don’t go there, he said to himself, she’s too stubborn even to consider dying. She’d haunt me for the inconvenience.

He sat down on the edge of her massive bed and closed his eyes, a hand pressed to his chest.

He focused on the tether now that he could sense it more solidly. He halted his breathing and concentrated on the frozen, frayed end of it within him. Pouring every drop of his will into it, he gave it a few sharp mental tugs.

And spoke through it. Sending a ping or a summons, he wasn’t sure.

Where the hell are you?

For one glorious second, it warmed with a faint echo of her wildfire heat, and a hint of her scent infused his nose. It vanished as soon as it began. The connection had timed out. The signal had died, leaving him even colder than before.

He swore aloud and slammed his fist against the headboard, wood splintering under the ice that sparkled without command. He couldn’t go find her.

He had no coordinates, and his gut instinct knew—Barbatos’s lair was off the grid. Warded in ways tech couldn’t map. He could have the GPS coordinates and still walk right past it. He wanted to pull his hair out.

I’m not dying like this. No chance.

The thought looped as he lay on his back and schemed, breathing in Liora’s lingering scent. He hated that it soothed his frayed nerves, but it helped him ignore his body’s demands to feed.

The hollowness chewed at him, like invisible mouths scraped their pointed teeth along his ribs. Fine then. If he couldn’t find her, he’d force her.

“Should’ve come back on your own. You won’t like my next move,” he said aloud, fangs piercing his own lip, just to break the quiet. He plastered a smirk on his face.

Plan B: become a problem so massive, she has to deal with it. My specialty.

He sat up and went over it in his head. The plan was simple. Brutal. Written in the language she spoke fluently. He’d lure the hunters to the docks.

He’d let himself continue to starve, so the emptiness in him convinced them he was weak. He’d let them think they were about to score a win. They wouldn’t be able to resist.

A slow smile spread across his face, false, but it would do for now. To hook her in, he’d use symmetry to create a trap so immaculate, she wouldn’t be able to resist it either.

Ashton stood, nodded to himself, and went to his laptop. He opened the hunter chat he’d found earlier. AaronHH was online as he sent a message, pretending he was a rookie hunter before he signed out and switched it off.

ChadAlpha5: Heard whispers the vampire’s at the docks. Alone.

Later that night found him on the rain-slicked docks, the air tasting of brine, rust, and failure. The water glittered and rippled, whispering its secrets under the full moon. Boats anchored, and they bobbed slightly.

They creaked, but he didn’t see any of it as he walked. Rusting shipping containers walled off the flat concrete field he’d chosen for this insanity on either side. It was as if those who worked here had expected a battle to break out.

His inner voice kept a running commentary going as he glanced around. He drew a tight breath that roasted his dry throat.

Such a cliché setting. Betrayal on the Docks. Some scriptwriters would make a three-hour movie out of this.

He twitched and ached as he moved. Hands flexing, mouth tightening. His empty gut spasmed, step faltering with it. He was starving. Miserable as a wretched thing, freezing so badly his joints creaked.

His movements were a shitty parody of his usual lethal grace. It was as if he were treading through thick treacle with stone shoes on. He was a marionette with frozen strings.

He didn’t have to wait long. Steady pounding feet came closer and closer, the racket echoing off the metal containers surrounding him, like the heartbeat he didn’t have. They flooded through the open end at the edge where concrete met water.

They came in a pack of well over a dozen, armed with iron and their self-righteous zeal. Men and women, all wearing the same uniform. Bland khaki covered every inch.

They wore full-face masks; only their eyes glinted as they approached. Weapons clasped tight. They stood in an arrowhead formation. He took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders.

Show time. Do not screw this up and die for real.

There was no room in his mind for fear or concern for himself. Ashton’s head cocked as he lifted his hand in a ‘come hither’ motion. Time seemed to stop.

Then it went on fast forward as they rushed him. He shut off his emotions. He had no use for them now. His vampiric sight marked everyone as he instantly formed his battle plan.

He gave them his best performance. Liora’s lessons coming to fruition. If only she were there to see it. His slanted grin held steady on his face. He let them see a flash of fang.

He moved among them, a winter glitch, his clumsiness making the fight messy, and real. His hands shot out, he snapped a neck. The sickening wet crunch of bone breaking reverberated like a gunshot. Ash didn’t bother with words for once.

His usual taunts were of no use in this. He let his frost lash out in uncontrolled bursts, shattering kneecaps, flash-freezing eyes—selling the lie of a vampire on the verge of a collapse.

He killed five of them. A knife sliced his arm as he grabbed one and tore their throat out with his teeth. He didn’t feel it. It wasn’t deep enough to alert the bond. Hot blood splattered his face.

It tasted like aspartame-sweetened ash when it landed on his tongue. It smelled sewer-ripe. His face screwed. He spat it out. It did nothing to reboot his systems.

Only Liora could sustain him. He brawled, giving a good show of him growing ‘weaker.’ His breath panted. His hands shook.

He stumbled as he saw his opening. Another hunter lunged with a double-edged blade. Ashton braced himself. His mind screamed at him to stop. He deliberately turned just a fraction too slow.

“Fuck,” he cursed as they collided. The pain was so immense, he couldn’t make a sound.

It was a searing, deadening weight as the knife plunged into his chest. Hilt deep. He stared down at it and fought the impulse to pull it out.

Note to self, he said silently, getting stabbed still sucked. Big time.

He was putting on a show. It had to look good when she came.

If she comes, you’re a flaw in her code. You’re a parasite. She’ll leave you to rot.

The doubt snuck through his mental shields without warning. Poisonous and useless as the knife in him.

There was an invisible mountain on his back, threatening to squash him flat. He coughed, wet, eyes stinging. If she didn’t come, so be it.

It was over. He’d finally run out of luck.

The voice in his head had more confidence.

Shut up. She’ll come. She loves herself too much to let a glitch like me burn her down.

But his knees hit the wet concrete. His world narrowed to the dagger in his ribs. It splintered his bones, grinding deeper with his every tiny movement. He parsed his error as the remaining hunters crowded him.

His entire body went still. Breath held and a bitter laugh crept up his shredded throat. They had lowered their weapons.

They hadn’t come to kill him. The knife wasn’t Silverthorn. No poison seeped through his veins. It was plain old iron. He snarled, gnashing his teeth.

His frost exploded out of him in a final uncontrolled eruption, a dump of power that flash-froze the wet concrete and made the hunters recoil. They’d come to take him alive.

To drag him back to a lab and test and prod and slice to see what made the monster tick. His silver eyes tarnished as the knowledge settled in. They would continue their work to make a weapon out of him and use him to cull the world of supernaturals.

As they’d tried with his brother and— enough. It’s done. It’s over.

He wanted to roar his outrage until it fried his vocal cords, but lacked the strength. Weakness, absolute and horrible, washed over him. The bond stretched to its limit, leaving him hollow.

An empty shell for them to fill with their serums and orders. He heard them muttering to each other but could not make out what they said over the blaze of frosted agony howling through him.

Any day now, Red, really. Anytime.

He kneeled there, gasping, vision tunneling as one of them approached. He trembled so profoundly. Ash had no chance to defend himself. They had no weapons. Only a needle.

He barely felt the prick as it sank into his neck. He didn’t care about the vial filling with his thinned blood. What did it matter?

They already had his data. This was just a new sample. The wannabe phlebotomist scurried away, running out of sight as the others circled him. Another wave of pulsing pain slammed into him.

It was an icepick driving into his sternum. His head dropped, teeth clenched against it. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of a scream. His gums burned with the weight of his fangs. The cold was winning. The world greyed out.

His shoulders slumped, body curling inward. He thought... he thought she’d feel it. That she’d come the second the blade entered his body. The bond remained silent.

Dead, his mind corrected. His vision swam. Fuck. He’d really done it this time. It was almost funny, as another hunter stepped forward, Silverthorn cuffs in hand.

His wrists blistered prematurely as if recalling their horrific power. Oh, this was going to hurt like a bitch.

Well, this was an embarrassing way to go. Of all the fucking ways, I had to choose this.

The thought didn’t help.

It made his insides knot so tightly; he feared they’d never untangle. He didn’t even attempt to move as the other man approached.

The hunter never got near him. Ashton’s smirk bloomed wild, real this time.

The sky started screaming.

He’d never heard it’s like. It was the shriek of reality tearing itself apart, of raw shadow given voice.

The concrete rumbled and shook. And a wave of pure, undiluted hellfire spilled down the tether inside him.

The thick layer of ice encasing his internal organs melted under its heat, hissing and steaming as it wove through him. He sighed, muscles relaxing bit by bit.

Oh, she was furious. Perfect.

He stared at the sky, silver eyes blazing once again as they devoured every detail. A cyclone of impenetrable darkness blotted out a large patch of stars.

It whirled and whirled. Black tendrils poured free like smoky water. Reaching for the ground. Lightning flashed and fractured the mass.

Wind whipped, hammering into shipping containers. He had the urge to cackle, to cheer her on.

He held it back. Trying not to aggravate the knife sticking out of him. Obsidian veins spidered up his neck and webbed the corners of his eyes.

The wind battered on. The water rippled savagely under the force of it. It was the most stunning thing he’d ever witnessed.

He sank to his haunches. The hunters staggered back and flung themselves down to avoid it. Hands covering their heads. Ash just waited.

He swayed, nodding deliriously. White stars burst behind his eyelids with every blink. Glacial blood dripped from him, pooling thinly as there wasn’t much left in him. Limbs too weak to rise.

That intangible reel in his chest spun and spun the opposite way, spooling its thread back in now that she was close. It hummed with warmth, life, and a rightness he hadn’t expected.

He almost hated her for making him feel it.

All the tension that had built up these past days bled out of him so fast he was dizzy.

Thank the useless gods, his monster had returned. The relief was so potent it hurt as it flooded his frozen veins.

Here she is. About damn time.