The Scarred Huntress

You Should Kill Me

"I am nobody's puppet!" I snap. My wolf takes over.

"There you are—"

I lunge at him before he can finish, aiming to claw that smug look off his face. He interlocks his fingers in mine, and his face turns beastly.

"Do something," he growls, baring his fangs.

I swing my leg at his side before I can think. I shouldn't have. He catches my limb and sweeps the only leg I'm balancing on.

My back smacks the ground, and his large form pins me down. His fingers are still locked with mine, and he pins them over my head. He smirks. I make a fist with my free hand, but he catches it before it can connect with his face, pinning that hand above my head as well.

Heat rises to my face.

His grip tightens around my wrists and makes my hands clench into fists. I twist like a reptile, but he remains above me, sapping the energy out of me until I feel his arousal stirring. Disgust drives my knee to his groin. His grip loosens, and I swipe his face, drawing blood and sending him off of me.

I reach for the cuffs in my utility belt. He reaches for me. I bind his wrists together just as his fingers tighten around my neck. The air thins, and I desperately claw his forearms. His eyes flare with a ravenous light that makes my heart rate spike.

I hack at his forearm until his grip loosens. He would have transformed, but we both know the cuffs I captured him with restrict him from doing just that. It's made entirely of wolfsbane steel.

I lurch away from him, catching my breath. His forearm and face pulse with blood from the claw marks adorning them.

His mouth opens wide to say something, but it just hangs as his eyelids grow heavy. I rise to my feet and tower above him.

Below me, untransformed, he looks pathetic. My blood runs hot.

"You… cheated," he manages. My frown is the last thing he sees before going unconscious.

The night is quiet now, and a moist wind blows. I can feel the rain coming.

Perfect. His blood will wash away when I'm done. My claws shoot out, catching the dull glow of the full moon.

Minutes pass, and eventually the sky pours down on us both, leaving our bodies drenched.

He wheezes below me, and I step back while readying my killing blow.

His eyelids flutter open, and he coughs out water. His hair is drenched and slick over his face while he tries to sit up. The second set of shackles I bound his ankles with won't let him, so he just turns to his side and grits his teeth.

The cold is intense, but he does not curl. And though naked he does not shiver at all. Instead, his eyes are dark and piercing, and rageful heat crawls under my skin.

"You should kill me," his voice rumbles like thunder. "This is miserable."

"You deserve it."

"More people will die if you don't kill me right now."

Every muscle in my body locks. What is he planning? His eyes are dead serious. Spiteful. I hate myself for wanting to believe this is one of his sick games.

"Don't be selfish," he snarls. "Do it!"

I flinch.

His grin shakes. "You know I can't live without killing those Jackal bastards. So if you want to stop them from dying, you might as well finish me—because I promise you, if I get out of this alive, Werewolf Island will know hell."

He says it in one venomous breath.

Something cold and sharp floods my veins, and I inch closer, crouching to meet his eyes. His gaze shifts from mine to my cheek—to the scar that made me what I am. I'm not Batman. And this isn't my first time killing. I want to kill him, but I also want to understand why he's doing this.

"You really want to die?"

His jaw locks. I continue before he can answer:

"By the hands of a she-wolf? The great Icarus Morvan," I mock. "Your ancestors will roast you in hell."

The lines on his face contort with morbid hate, and a dark satisfaction fills me.

I raise my hand and bring it down. His eyes keep boring into me. I make a fist at the last moment and pound his jaw. His head snaps sideways.

"Death is too merciful for types like you," I murmur, watching blood trail down his face.