Page 141 of Bleed

“Keep her safe,” he orders.

I don’t even realize who he’s talking to until Ronnie appears at my side, his hand closing firmly around my upper arm.

“Come on, Bex.”

I resist, digging in my heels, my eyes fixed on Elliott’s back. Everything in me rebels against moving away from him, but Ronnie tugs hard on my arm, forcing me another step backward.

Devin hobbles over to join us, one hand pressed to his cheek where an angry bruise is already beginning to bloom. He stares at the two vampires with wide eyes, looking understandably shell-shocked.

“This is my shop,” Ronnie announces, his voice rough but remarkably steady. “Whatever bullshit you two have going on, take it outside.”

Neither vampire acknowledges him. They’re completely focused on each other.

Vincent stands perfectly still across the shop, while Elliott remains planted between us, shoulders squared, hands loose at his sides.

The tension in the air thickens as the silence stretches.

“Eli,” I whisper again.

He glances back at me, and that’s when Vincent moves.

“Elliott!”

The warning barely leaves my mouth before Vincent becomes a blur, but luckily, Elliott’s even faster. The two of them collide with enough force to send a nearby stool skittering across the floor, and everything after that happens too fast for my human brain to properly process.

A flash of movement. Elliott’s hand shooting upward. A sickening crack followed by a wet, visceral tearing sound. Something warm splatters across my face, and then… silence.

I blink.

Vincent’s still standing– at least, most of him is. His body remains upright for one bizarre, impossible second before his knees buckle and he collapses heavily to the floor.

His head doesn’t go with him.

Because Elliott is holding it.

Blood streams from the ragged stump of Vincent’s neck, splashing onto the floor. His amber eyes stare sightlessly ahead, mouth slightly open, a shocked expression frozen on his severed face.

I stare in horror while somewhere behind me, Devin whispers, “Holy fuck.”

Elliott looks down at the head in his hand, completely expressionless, then drops it. It hits the floor with a horrible thud, and nobody moves. Nobody speaks.

Eli reaches calmly into his pocket and pulls out a handkerchief. He removes his glasses, frowning at the blood spattered across the lenses, then begins wiping them clean.

I stare at him, completely speechless.

There’s a head on the floor– a head that was attached to a body approximately thirty seconds ago– and Elliott is cleaning his fucking glasses.

He holds them up for inspection, apparently satisfied, then slides them back onto his face. His gaze immediately finds me, sweeping from my head to my feet as if checking for injuries.

I’m fine, physically.

Mentally, the jury’s still out.

Apparently determining that I’m no worse for the wear, Elliott turns to Ronnie. “I apologize for the mess. I’ll have someone here within the hour to clean it up and replace the glass in your door.”

Ronnie just stares at him, mouth hanging open. I swear I can see the exact moment he recalculates everything he thought he knew about me.

Elliott turns back to me and extends a hand. “Shall we?”