Blood and Vengeance

The Death Of Mallory Adams

Mallory ,or whatever remained of her walked without a destination. Only distance mattered. Distance from laughter. Distance from betrayal. Distance from the version of herself who still believed in loyalty and family.

A taxi slowed beside her. The driver peeked out.

“You okay, miss?”

She turned her head bridal gown torn, makeup ruined, eyes empty.

The driver hesitated. “Want a ride somewhere?”

She almost said home.

But she stopped herself.

Home did not exist anymore.

“Anywhere far,” she said instead.

He raised a brow. “Far costs extra.”

She reached into her bra and pulled out an emergency wad of cash — she always carried some. Not because she expected betrayal ,but because she was practical.

He whistled. “Where to?”

She exhaled slowly.

Where does a woman go… when she no longer exists?

Across the street — Eduardo stepped from the shadows.He didn’t get into his own car. He didn’t need to. He followed on foot, blending into late-night pedestrians.

Someone else noticed her too — a man leaning against a lamppost, pulling out his phone and taking a picture as the taxi pulled away.

Eduardo’s hand snapped around the man’s wrist before the camera could click again.

“Delete it,” he said, voice quiet.

The man flinched. “Hey... what’s your problem...”

Eduardo tightened his grip just enough for bones to protest.

“I said,” he repeated, calm as death, “delete it.”

The man’s fingers trembled as he erased the photo. Eduardo watched carefully then crushed the phone under his heel for good measure.

“No one sees her,” he murmured.

Inside the taxi ,the driver kept glancing at her through the mirror.

“You running from somethin’?” he asked casually.

She stared at her reflection in the side window — a ghost bride surrounded by streetlights.

“No,” she said softly.

“I’m running to something.”

He scoffed. “What’s out there worth running to at midnight?”

She didn’t blink.

“A new name.”

He didn’t ask further.

They drove for over an hour. Out of the rich districts. Away from marble and glass. Into the dimly lit outskirts where anonymity was cheap and silence cheaper.

“End of the line,” the driver said, parking near an all-night convenience store and a rundown motel.

She handed him more than enough cash.

“Keep the change,” she said.

He shook his head. “You sure you’re okay?”

She stepped out before he could finish.

The night air was colder here. The ground dirtier. The neon motel sign flickered Vacancy like a heartbeat.

She walked toward it.

Eduardo arrived minutes later — unseen.He didn't approach her.He leaned against a wall across the street, hands in pockets, watching like a silent sentry.

A stray dog barked at an alley rat. A couple argued outside the store. A drunk man stumbled past, eyeing Mallory’s torn bridal gown with confusion.

Eduardo glared at him once.

The drunk man turned away instantly.

Mallory entered the convenience store first. The cashier didn’t even look up as she moved through the aisles, picking what she needed:

A cheap pair of jeans

A black hoodie

Scissors

Makeup wipes

A burner phone

At the counter, the cashier finally glanced at her — then at the dress.

“Rough night?”

She dropped the items with a dead stare.

“Ending a long engagement.”

The cashier snorted. “Sounds like you ended more than that.”

She didn’t respond.

In the motel room, she locked the door and stood before the cracked mirror.

She wiped her face clean.

She pulled her hair loose — soft, elegant curls falling around her shoulders.

Then she picked up the scissors.

She hesitated.

Her fingers trembled.

Not from fear.

From finality.

Snip.

A lock of hair fell into the sink.

Snip. Snip. Snip.

With every cut, Mallory Adams died a little more.

When she was done, she stared at the stranger in the mirror.

A woman with jagged, uneven hair. No makeup. No veil. No softness.

She exhaled.

“My name…” she whispered to her reflection.

“Is Averr Lysandre.”

She didn’t know that outside… another vow was being made.

Eduardo lit a cigarette, not to smoke but to watch the flame.

She is reborn.

Now so must I be.

The first spark of war ignited quietly between his fingers.