Page 75 of Slayer

I turned to him, confused. “What?”

He rolled his eyes. “Nothing.”

“No, tell me?” I asked.

“The way he’s flirting with you so obviously. It’s gross,” Asher offered.

Gross?

“Flirting? He’s being nice,” I countered.

Asher chuckled. “Okay, Stella.”

Okay, Stella? What did he care who flirted with me anyway? He was taken. I turned back to the front, confused by Asher’s behavior.

It was Tina’s turn. She attacked the moving mannequin with a sloppy formation and stabbed it in the armpit. Everyone laughed.

“Not funny. If that was in the field, she would have pissed it off, and she’d be dead or turned. Help her be better. Go again, Tina,” Celia said.

“I’m sorry,” Asher’s voice whispered in my ear, his hot breath brushing my neck and sending a shiver down my spine. I jumped a little, not expecting him. I turned and faced him, and his green eyes were blazing. “I don’t like that guy, okay? He called me ‘orphan Asher’ growing up. He’s a tool. Don’t date him. I’m just warning you. You deserve better.”

Don’t date him. I barely knew the guy!

Orphan Asher? That was rude as hell.

“I’m not dating anyone.” I laughed. “It’s my first week here. I have hunter marks to get. Dating can wait.”

Asher swallowed hard. “We don’t get new people here, Stella. We’ve all grown up together. You’re…fresh meat. Every guy is going to make a play for you. Fair warning.” His eyes bored into me then.

Make a play. Was this football terminology now?

“Fresh meat? Never say that to me again,” I warned.

He grinned. “My bad.”

“Well, I guess I’ll have to clear my calendar for all the dates that are going to start rolling in,” I said.

“Guess you will,” he replied.

I rolled my eyes. “Won’t happen.”

“You’re almost up.” He ignored me.

I spun around, closed the distance in the line, and tried to push Asher’s words out of my mind. Was he warning me as a friend? Or was it something else? Did I want it to be something else? Like jealousy?

No, not if he had a girlfriend. I was no cheater.

“Stella.” Celia called out and nodded in my direction.

I fisted my stake in my right hand and took a steadying breath, my pulse loud in my ears.

Everyone was trying to just walk up to the moving mannequin and attack it, but it was dangling from a rope so it was awkward, swinging unpredictably. I had a different plan, and I hoped the rope was strong enough to hold. The mannequin whizzed by me, and I took off running beside it. When I was in line with it, I jumped, colliding in midair with the wooden body. The rope sagged, and we lowered about two feet, skimming the ground. I wrapped my legs around its waist and my left hand around the back of the mannequin’s neck, the wood creaking under the impact. With her pinned, I used my right hand to triple stab right where the heart would be. The strikes landed fast, thud thud thud, my arm jolting with each hit.

The mannequin rolled to a stop at the end of the line, and I jumped off, boots hitting the grass.

“That was hot,” Alex said, and a few guys chuckled.

Celia pulled up the mannequin’s shirt and gave me a smirk. “Good job, Stella. You have great instincts.”