The Deadliest Weapon

Chapter1

Alexei Pov

“Fuck.” I gripped my bloody shoulder and gritted my teeth in pain. Under normal circumstances, the wound would have healed by now, but it was a f*****g silver bullet. My body was trying and failing to fight the poison, its cold fire spreading through my veins. Shifter senses were not helping at the moment because it was pure agony, feeling as much as I did. I was going to lose consciousness soon, and I needed to at least get into familiar territory before anything happened.

“Where the f**k is that mongrel?” I groaned and stumbled into an alleyway, praying to the moon goddess that those bastards wouldn't notice me. I slumped and fell into a foul-smelling puddle. The alley smelled like piss, and something died here; I was probably next.

“Excuse me?” I groaned, eyes rolling into the back of my head as I tried and failed to focus on the voice speaking.

“Fuc-f**k off,” I snarled

“Well, excuse me for trying to help. You can die for all I care,” the voice huffed and stomped off.

My sensitive ears twitched; the sounds of the bastards chasing me were getting closer.

“Wait-” I licked my chapped lips and forced my dropping eyes open. “Help me.”

I heard the receding footsteps slowly come back.

“Say please first.” What the f**k? Does this person know I'm dying? I was going to kill them once the bullet was pulled out. As they-she got closer, her scent assaulted me, cutting through the dense fog of putrid odours. She smelt divine; not quite human but not like us either, it was earthy and mouth-wateringly sweet. The last thing I felt was a cool hand brushing my forehead as I sank into the comforting darkness.

Ashyanti Pov

It wasn't every day I dragged a foot-something man with a bullet wound into my house. Extremely attractive men. With one last tug, I managed to haul him onto my couch. My back hurt from this impromptu workout. I arranged him as comfortably as I could, not sure what I was supposed to do.

He had scared me so badly when he had suddenly stumbled into the alleyway where I had been hiding from my stupid ex-boyfriend. I should have left him there, but I could hear my mother reprimanding me for leaving a helpless person out in the cold when I could have helped. Looking at the situation, I was of no help because there was a bullet in his shoulder. I rushed to my kitchen and grabbed the first aid kit, hoping that there was something I could use in there. Bandages, ethanol, gauze, a thong? How did that even– tweezers? Nothing in here was useful. The tweezers were probably too flimsy to remove a bullet from a human being. I grabbed a pair of scissors and cut his expensive-looking shirt off his body. Once his chest was bared I couldn't help but lightly stroke his chest, no hair, just smooth skin for miles. His pecs were solid, a tattoo gracing his right pec. My mouth suddenly went dry, as confusing heat grew in my stomach. Shaking myself out of a lust-filled haze, I inspected him.

The bullet was a noticeable lump in the fleshy part of his shoulder. I grabbed his torn shirt and pressed it hard on his shoulder. A pained grunt was all I heard. Rushing to the kitchen, I grabbed a knife from that holder and a bottle of whiskey Marley had left in the fridge. I grabbed my toolbox from under the sink and pulled out a pair of pliers. This should do. Dousing the knife and pliers with the whiskey, I prayed he wouldn't die as I washed my hands, just to be safe.

“Sorry,” I whispered as I poured the rest of the whiskey onto his wound. He groaned softly but didn't move. I made a clean incision directly above the bump, gagging as I cut as deeply as I could. The bullet’s showing. I was not a medical professional and was just winging it. I grabbed the pliers and carefully grabbed the top of the bullet, hoping I wasn't going to nick anything vital in his body. My hands shook in panic, a sickening, tearing sound was what I heard as the bullet came loose, and a swell of dark blood followed. I jumped to my feet and rushed to the sink, the chicken risotto I had for dinner making an appearance. I rushed back to him, his breathing shallow as I checked his pulse. Was it steady? At least he's breathing.

I packed his wound with gauze and carefully wrapped his shoulder with the bandages. As I worked, my eyes drifted to his washboard abs and the deep v, c*m gutters, Marley would call them. I chewed my lip as I traced the tattoo on his chest, a wolf howling at something. He was beautiful. I groaned, ashamed at myself for lusting after a stranger, an injured one at that. Please let him survive the night.

Wakefulness came in waves. First, there was the oh, I'm waking phase. Then sounds filtering in; the garbage men singing loudly as per usual, my neighbours in another screaming match, honestly, why were they still together, the sound of my coffee maker. The sound of my coffee maker!? Ijerked awake, nearly hitting my head on the drawer by my bed. I was on the floor, still in last night's clothes. My bed's occupant was awake, staring stoically, no, piercingly at me. I swallowed, my eyes drifting to his lips.

“I wasn't sure if it was an intruder or a friend.”

I groaned and heaved to my feet. Was I always this thirsty for a man?

“A second,” I rasped, lurching to my feet. I stumbled out of the bedroom, mouth dry, head pounding. Marley was at the counter, making toast.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he greeted cheerfully. “I made breakfast for you and your guest,” he said, waggling his eyebrows at me.

“Marley,” I groaned, “Oh, I wasn't sure what kind of breakfast he likes and judging from the thousand-dollar ripped Armani shirt on the floor, I doubt he eats anything but caviar on toast.”

I choked. A thousand dollars? For a shirt? Who did I just rescue?

“So, you finally got rid of that V card. How was it?” Talking with Marley always gave me whiplash.

“I– what? Wait, you think that he and I– that we–”

“f****d. Don't be a prude, just say the word.” I was going to kill Marley.

“I didn't do anything with him.”

“I didn't f**k her.” I whirled around, my guest standing at the entrance to the kitchen. I rushed to him and tried to guide him to the stool at the island.

“Let me get this straight, you had this hunk of a man in your home and you didn't f**k him?” “Marley, stop talking, please.” “I'd hit that.” I glared at him. My guest smacked my hands away and sat by himself. The rejection stung more than it should have. He moved with a stiff grace, his broad back a wall of defiance, even in his weakened state.

​"I didn't f**k her," he repeated, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the small kitchen. He pinned Marley with a look so cold I saw my friend’s cheerful demeanor falter for the first time. "And you will stop talking about her as if she were my type.”

​Marley, to his credit, recovered quickly, though he wisely dropped the subject.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Armani? What's wrong with my friend? She's hot and sexy, and sure, she's a prude, but what virgin isn't? Now, here-” He slid a plate of toast and scrambled eggs onto the island in front of the stranger. " Eat. Whatever you two didn't do, you both look like hell."

​The man stared at the food as if it might be poisoned. His gaze flickered to me, an unreadable emotion swimming in his pale, grey eyes. They were the color of a storm brewing over the ocean. He was assessing, calculating. I felt like a puzzle he was trying to solve, and the intensity of his stare made my skin prickle with a strange heat. Thank God for melanin, because I was sure a blush was creeping up my neck.

​He finally picked up the fork, his movements economical and precise. Despite the thousand-dollar shirt now ruined on my living room floor, he ate like a man who had known true hunger. The silence in the kitchen was thick and awkward, broken only by the scrape of his fork against the plate and the sound of Marley humming off-key as he sipped his coffee.

​I needed to break it. "So," I started, my voice sounding unnaturally high. "You're… awake. That's good."

​He didn't look up, but a corner of his mouth twitched. "An astute observation."

​His sarcasm was as sharp as the knife I’d used on him. I pressed on, ignoring Marley’s snickering. "I’m Ashyanti. This is Marley."

​He swallowed a mouthful of eggs and finally met my eyes again. "Alexei."

​Just one name. Of course. Men who looked like him, who wore their danger like a custom-fit suit, never needed more than one name.

​"Well, Alexei," Marley chirped, leaning against the counter. "Now that introductions are out of the way, you wanna tell me how you ended up in my besties house? And you,” he said, turning to look at me,” Why the hell is there blood at your front door?”

​"Marley," I warned, shooting him a glare. "Stop."

​But Alexei’s focus had sharpened. He put his fork down slowly, his entire body going still. "Human, do you know who I am?"