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When I finally took the shot, at some future date, would she fall into the darkness of the room beyond her, or slam into the unforgiving grit and filth beneath, soiling her perfect white nightdress, tarnishing her pale hair?
Those were all my worries, my concerns over the kill I should have ended so long ago.
Now, she was gone.
I cursed, swinging the scope down to search the alley, wondering if I would see her body splattered across the stinking urine stains like so much discarded trash. The alley was empty, and a fraction of air sucked into my chest.
If Celeste Flores was to die, it would be by my hand, and mine alone.
Swinging the scope back to my mark’s usual spot, her window came into focus in time to register the silver flash coming my way in an impossible arc. A moment held between us, the sweeping movement of her arm, the dull glint of starlight on metal.
I exhaled, and the blade buried itself cement inches from my knees. I stared at it for a second before I laughed.
All those smooth lines, the sharp angles. No, not a blade; an arrow.
She shot at me with a fucking crossbow, missing only by design.
What the actual fuck?
A broad grin spread across my face as I yanked the offending object from its berth, twirling the short length in my fingers. The bolt was rough on one side where several letters were engraved into the polished metal where it rested against my callouses. I stared at the slightly uneven words she carved in by hand.
I can see you.
That she gave me a capital S earned a soft laugh. She shot at me and missed, but not by error. I smiled, something cracking in my chest, my heart beating in its black blood that filled my veins, and focused on her once more.
She was back in the window as though nothing happened, one leg swinging from its safe haven outside of the window. Her foot was bare and, for some reason, even with the view of her perfectly toned calf wrapped in a white skirt, the sight was erotic. I reached beneath myself to adjust my cock, wishing it was her tender flesh that squeezed the rock hard length.
As I watched, she stared across the hundred yards across the city lights, ignoring the scurrying, inconsequential town beneath us. The many lives we avoided continued in their pathetic chores while we occupied the shadows in the void above. Her eyes connected with mine, jolting me through the magnified vision of the scope.
The faintest smile on her lips, she raised the wineglass she never drank from, taking a single sip. Her head tilted to one side, she lifted the crossbow outside the windowsill, dangling the metal for a brief moment, and let it fall.
Its inaudible clang still reverberated through me as I counted out the seconds to impact, never taking my eyes off her. Not again. With that shot at me, my fascination with her twisted like a macabre obsession, knowing that by ending her life, I would ache for her. A form of possessiveness infested my dark heart like a disease, ruining me more than I already was from the inside out.
I let out a breath, my chest hollow, and feathers the trigger.
Just once.
Glass sprayed in a beautiful array of glittering shards across her lips, exploding the remnants of her red wine into the air like so much bloody rain suspended in the black night’s muted light for a frozen moment before they fell, leaving her holding the delicate remains of the jagged glass stem in her lithe fingers.
The impact tossed shards of glass her way, some small pieces embedding around her throat in the creamy expanse of her delicate skin, the trailing drops of blood ghostly against a pale background. One larger drop trailed slowly between her breasts, painting the swell in glistening caramine.
Otherwise she remained unharmed, though her pulse fluttered at the sweet slope of her exposed throat.
Through it all she never took her eyes off me, and she never moved.
Celeste held out the remainder of her glass into the void of nothingness and opened fingers. The glass glittered, flashing in the reflected city lights as it fell, but neither of us were watching it. Perfect soft pink lips parted as she gazed at me, unseeing but piercing through me, and mouthed a single word.
Tomorrow.
My breath lodged in my throat, I kept my scope on her. She reached between her breasts, picking out each slice of glass I put there, marking her one by one, and dropping them over her windowsill. Celeste sent me a final sweet look and slipped from the windowsill here.
My wintergreen, like the star-shaped arctic flower. Delicate, but sharp.
Fucking perfection.
I blinked, but she didn’t return to the window, still lying there on my stomach, exposed and made, though she had been gone for more than a minute.
I hadn’t killed her. Again.
