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Chapter One
Clara
The fingersaround my throat tighten, pressing in, and pinning me against the wall. Cassius brings his face within an inch of mine, snarling. The sharp points of his fangs glint, stark white in the flickering torchlight.
“You are aslayer, Clara. Stop acting as if you aren’t.”
I reach up and grab his wrists. My fingers fumble to remove his hand.
But it’s no use.
He’s too strong.
Cassius loosens his grip, and I can finally pull a shallow breath of air into my lungs. It burns against my aching throat.
“How can I act like a slayer if I have no idea what that means?” I grind out.
His only response is an animalistic growl. I claw at his skin hard enough to make a human bleed. Even as I dig my nails in, his flesh heals the minor cuts instantly. I doubt it lasts long enough for him to even feel it at all.
“The title has power, and you need to claim it.”
I stop struggling and indicate his hand keeping me in place. “Clearly, I am not any stronger than before.”
Cassius’s face drops, unamused with my ignorance. “Not literally,” he says flatly. “It is a title that makes vampires fear you.”
“Then it’s nothing more than a label marking me for the crime of killing a few vampires before they could kill me. It meansnothingto me,” I scoff.
Jerking my leg, I go to knee him in the stomach. He sees it coming and moves in and to the side, too close for me to get any momentum.
“Words have power, little bird.”
Arching my back against the wall, I try to push off, but his leg keeps me in place. My efforts amount to nothing more than a dying insect’s would to a horse.
“How would they know?”
“There isn’t a vampire within this city who doesn’t already know who you are. The power of demons runs through our veins—even lesser vampires.” He says, dark and low. The fingers around my neck tighten again. “We are immortal, possessing the strength of twenty men… and for a mortal to kill three and live to tell the tale? Now that is something to fear.”
Without warning, Cassius releases me and steps back. I stumble sideways, leaning on the wall for support, bending over, gasping.
The ache fades after a moment as my body begins to heal, thanks to the mark. My partially crushed airway reforms, as I suck in ragged breath after ragged breath. Then the rawness inside my throat subsides.
More than three, I want to say, but keep that to myself.
I glare through the curtain of my hair at Cassius. He has found this new ability to be “helpful” in our training sessions, having decided that pain and minor injuries will help me learn faster.
“You’re not concentrating. If you don’t put your head into it, you will end up dead.”
“I am,” I say. “You have me training two times a day for hours on end… It’s all we do—I’m tired.”
He crosses his arms over his broad chest and chuckles humorlessly. “You’re not tired—you’re pouting.” Lightning fast, Cassius closes the distance between us in a single stride. His hand wraps around my arm, forcing me to turn and face him. “You can’t afford to stay weak.”
My nostrils flare as I attempt to hold in the spike of anger igniting. “And a title will not make me strong,” I grind out through gritted teeth.
There’s a flash of his white sleeve as he brings up his other arm. I react on instinct and duck, bringing up my arm to block the strike. Pain vibrates down to the bone as we connect, but I ignore it and kick out, aiming for the inside of his leg just above the knee.
Cassius leaps out of reach just before I connect. I lunge forward, ready to deliver the series of strikes we’ve been working on all morning, and suddenly, he’s behind me. Twisting at the waist, I turn, knowing a hit will come.
Except I don’t block in time.
