Three
1086 Words
Chapter Three — Aftermath and Tension
“What about them, Dmitri?” Kate asked, tilting her head toward the decapitated attackers lying motionless on the asphalt.
“Call the Sorters on your way to the castle. We don’t have time for that,” Dmitri said, his gaze sharp, resting on Thea. “The other girl’s pulse is weakening.”
Kate nodded, effortless as always. She slipped one of Thea’s arms around her shoulder and lifted her as if she weighed nothing. “Try not to get stuck outside in the sun again,” she teased Dmitri.
“Awe, if I’m not mistaken,” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips, “I’d say you care about me.”
Kate shot him a bored look. In an instant, she vanished down the lot, silent and deadly. Dmitri shook his head, a faint smile tugging at him. People thought Kate was cold, but beneath that icy exterior, she was warm and fiercely protective—once you got past the walls.
Then a delicate scent reached him: roses and fresh powder, soft and intoxicating. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, letting it guide him. Faye. That had to be her.
Dmitri’s gaze fell on her prone figure, golden hair scattered across the asphalt. Her skin was pale, deathly pale, her lips tinged blue. A flash of anger surged through him, raw and fierce.
He gathered her gently into his lap, tilting her head and biting into his wrist. “Come on, angel. Drink,” he whispered, guiding his wrist to her lips.
For a moment, nothing. His blood wasn’t healing her wounds. Panic clawed at him, unfamiliar and frightening.
“Please… drink,” Dmitri begged, pressing her closer. He breathed in her scent, the sweet fragrance anchoring him as she finally responded. Her mouth latched onto his wrist, suckling slowly, and warmth began to return to her pale cheeks.
“Yes… that’s it,” he murmured, stroking her hair. Relief washed over him. Her wounds began to mend, the color returning to her lips, coated in his blood. His eyes glowed faintly with hunger, but he willed himself to pull back, restraining the primal urge to consume every drop.
“Can you hear me?” he asked softly.
Faye groaned, eyelids fluttering. When her eyes opened, they were a pale, fragile blue, mesmerizing in their vulnerability.
“Where am I?” she asked, voice husky, music to his ears.
“You’re safe,” he said simply. She struggled to sit, and he eased her against a nearby car, steadying her.
“Who are you?” Her heart pounded as panic returned. “Where is Thea? What did you do to her, you bastard?” She grabbed his jacket, shaking him in desperation. “If you hurt her, I swear I will kill you myself!”
“Hey, calm—” Dmitri began, only to be cut off by her slap across his cheek.
Her eyes brimmed with tears, and he froze. She had dared—dared—to strike him. His glowing eyes softened as he looked at her, taking in the blood-stained lips, the defiance in her stance. He moved toward her, close enough to feel her warmth, but she stopped him with a quiet, “Please… let me go.”
He recoiled, chastened, running a hand through his dark hair.
She rose slowly, steadying herself. “Where is she? Did you kill her?”
“Does it look like I could?” His anger flared, but it was tempered by the need to calm her.
“Then where is she?”
“She’s safe,” he repeated, firm and unwavering.
“Safe where?”
“That’s all you need to know,” he said, losing patience.
Faye flinched. “I want to talk to her.”
Dmitri’s jaw tightened. She wasn’t giving up. Good.
A low rumble announced the arrival of the Sorters’ van. Massive, black, foreboding. The Sorters—the coven’s clean-up crew—arrived to erase the battle from existence. Cullen, their leader, a hulking man with a voice that could shatter nerves, took in the scene. Faye gasped and instinctively moved behind him, a tiny gesture that sent a surge of satisfaction through Dmitri.
“What mess did you make for me this time?” Cullen rumbled, smirking.
“You know me,” Dmitri replied lightly. “I’m generous. I wouldn’t want you to get fat and lazy.”
“Ah, you warm my heart,” Cullen returned, tone teasing.
Dmitri shook his head, eyes flicking over the scene. “Five here, another in the car. He’s not dead—just wounded. Handle him first. Quick. Sun’s coming up.”
“And the girl?” Cullen asked, nodding toward Faye.
“I’ll take care of her,” Dmitri said, eyes glowing faintly.
“Uh… okay,” Cullen replied, raising an eyebrow.
The men leapt into action, expertly cleaning up the aftermath. Dmitri turned back to Faye, reaching for her hand.
She stomped on his foot and ran the opposite direction. A Sorter grabbed her around the waist, and she kicked and screamed.
“Let go of her!” Dmitri barked. His eyes flared. The Sorter released her immediately. Faye fell backward, scrambling away.
“What in the hell was that for?” he demanded.
“What else was I supposed to do?” she spat. “Stand there and offer you my neck to drink me dry?”
“Well, tempting as that is,” Dmitri said with a smirk, “I have better things to do than nibble on that pretty little neck.”
Faye stared, dumbfounded.
Dmitri sighed, exasperated. “I just want to get you home safely. Then I’ll sleep for a week. I’ve had a long night.”
“And why would I tell you where I live?”
“Because if I didn’t save you, you’d be dead. And if I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it instead of wasting time bringing you home. You have a car, yes?”
Faye hesitated. “Lot B.”
He nodded and started walking. She followed at first—but when he turned to face her, moving slowly, she instinctively stepped back, trapping herself against a car. Dmitri smiled faintly, draping his jacket over her shoulders.
“Second time you hit me, Faye. Next time, there’ll be penance.”
She swallowed hard. They stood in tense silence for a moment before he finally started walking, and Faye, reluctantly, followed.
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