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ILSA
“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me.”
Standing at my front door, her arm was outstretched as she leaned heavily on the door frame, that cocky-ass grin plastered on her face. I was about to tell her where to shove it, but then I gave her a better look over, forcing myself to shift past my initial reaction of having her at my doorstep—anger and confusion—and giving way to something I tried not to do too often to those who may not deserve it—compassion. The kind of compassion that goes beyond duty and makes my chest ache.
But seeing her now… fuck.
How I was going to explain to the landlord about the trail of blood leading from the elevator to my front door? I had no idea. The trail ended at her feet as she stood trembling, her grin having dropped a moment after I had opened the door. Blood was dripping from wounds on her exposed midriff, her taut stomach smudged with handprints as she had tried to stem the flow.
With as much of her weight as possible leaning on her arm, which shook with the effort of holding herself up, she simply nodded slightly and looked at the floor as though she already knew what I was thinking. Even though her clothes were black, as they mostly were, the thick, sticky patches of blood were still visible across her chest and legs. The rattling of her unsteady breathing was unnerving.
“Jesus, Ray, what the fuck happened?” I whispered.
In what I imagined was a huge effort, judging by the grimace painfully stuck on her face, Ray raised her head. When she made eye contact, I sucked in a breath, as I always did, despite our differences—a mild way of putting it—I wasn’t blind to how beautiful she was.
And those golden eyes, well, they were hard to ignore.
Eyes that usually blazed with passion and fury were now filled with pain, and if I didn’t know Ray better, I’d have sworn she was about to cry. Her deep crimson hair lay limp around her face, streaked with blood. Seeing her like this struck pain in my chest which was hard to ignore. I had tried to hurt her before, then helped her for reasons I still don’t understand. But now, watching one of the strongest beings I had ever encountered, weakened and trembling, noting the lack of the cheeky flare from her eyes, well, it tore at even my own heartstrings.
“Please,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
I caught her as she passed out.
Why is it that although I had been trying to stop her myself, learning her habits and working my way into her life so she couldn’t take a step without me knowing about it, that I suddenly cared she was hurt?
Because it wasn’t done by me?
Because I felt some claim over her now?
Because I hadn’t solved the enigma which was this demon woman?
What hit me the hardest was the realization I didn’t want to see her suffer. That somewhere along the line, we had forged some fucked-up bond where we fought and disappeared without any real intention to do anything about it. Like a hero and a villain from a comic book, we needed each other as much as we hated each other.
The hatred seemed to be mostly on my behalf, I’ll admit. Ray had continued going about her merry way while I had battled my conscience every damn step of the way.
Hatred mixed with desire was a difficult combination to deal with, so I expressed it in the only way I knew how.
Anger.
There was a time not too long ago when I thought I knew how to kill a demon. It turns out, I didn’t know shit. But what I could tell you was the silver bullets used by whoever had attacked Ray wasn’t one of them. Although they would hurt like hell—pun not intended—from what I had gathered, she couldn’t heal until the foreign body—the silver—was removed.
Until then, she was in agony, bleeding openly and in and out of consciousness.
Which was apparently where I came in.
“I bet you’re loving this.” She forced the words through gritted teeth as I dug into another wound on her torso with tweezers, searching for the remaining silver fragments.
“I’m not, actually.”
“Come on, Ilsa, admit you’re enjoying it, even a little bit.”
Ray howled as I yanked another bullet from her torso, dropping it on the kitchen counter. I had her lying on the breakfast bar, pulling my stool up close and doing the best I could not to miss anything in the poor fluorescent lighting and the beam of the torch from my toolbox.
My lips twitched, and I knew she saw it.
“I knew it,” she whispered, a hint of pride and a chuckle in her tone before lying flat again. Her forehead was covered in sweat, the moisture mingling with the blood in her hair. I wondered if that was hers or someone else’s but didn’t want to ask until I was sure I was ready for the answer.
“Looks like I pissed off the wrong person this time,” she said, seconds before snarling at me, her eyes flashing when I pulled another bullet from her leg. “Fuck!” She hissed. “You could at least try to be gentle.”
I arched an eyebrow at her and again said nothing.
Why had she come to me?
I didn’t know where else to go.
That made sense. It’s not like she was going around making friends.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she muttered.
“Sure you do.”
Ray scoffed. “Please, you’re easy to read. At least for me.”
“You talk an awful lot for someone getting bullets removed.”
She flinched. “You’re thinking…” she jolted again, and I slapped her leg to keep her still, “… did the person who shot me intend to wound me, knowing the silver wouldn’t kill me, or were they under the impression as you were that the silver would destroy me?”
“Was it an attempt on your life or a warning?” I muttered.
“Right.”
I didn’t give my answer straight away, but I certainly had my suspicions. “Maybe you’ve been stepping on the wrong toes.”
She scoffed again but said nothing.
By the time the final bullet was removed, and I had done a suitable amount of digging around to search for leftover fragments, her body was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and her face was pale, making her golden eyes and red hair stand out even more than they usually did. I’m guessing she was in more pain than she’d like to admit, and I hated the part of me that felt bad about that fact. She’d caused more than this amount of pain to others—maybe demons weren’t immune to karma.
Slapping a gauze pad, harder than necessary, on her thigh, she sat up abruptly and snarled at me, baring her teeth as it turned into a hiss. It took all my willpower not to recoil from her. When her eyes flashed yellow like that, and she exposed her teeth—all I could see was the demon in her.
