NOVPUBAila ripped the hunter from the ground, a smile growing on her face, a wildness in her eyes reflecting back from Clint’s. His gaze lowered to her teeth, and his body shivered. He actually shook in fear, and she delighted in it.
Without waiting any longer, Aila let the overwhelming need to release violence on the hunter consume her. She threw him through the door to the office he exited from earlier, noting how he hit his head against the desk and instantly passed out. "Oh, that’s no fun," she huffed, then turned back to see Cassius still on the ground.
He wasn’t dead. Aila knew that, but he was utterly lifeless as though he should be. The bond was still in place, meaning her master was still alive. The idea of him dying caused a stir in her chest; she didn’t quite want to look into it much.
"It’s just this damned bond," Malia snarled in her mind, completely disagreeing with Aila and where her thoughts were leading to. There was nothing romantic she felt towards him but some annoying loyalty that revealed itself at this moment. Aila would agree with her; Cassius did so much to her, though, at the same time, he helped her. It was such a dilemma.
"There’s no dilemma," Malia growled. "He’s the reason you’re not with your mate. He’s the reason there are lycans in those cells at the castle.. Remember, the evil outweighs the good!"
Aila flinched but didn’t argue with her wolf. Instead, she crouched beside him, watching as the bullet was slowly being pushed out of his eye by the vampire’s healing. Who would have known a gunshot wound through the eye would take down Cassius. Granted, it wasn’t for long, but even in her blood-filled haze, she logically counted how long it took the vampire to heal and return to himself.
The bullet was pushed out and slipped down the side of his face, leaving a streak of blood in its wake. Aila watched and watched, waiting, her attention flicking between one villain and the next. Both were down.
"What are you doing?" Davian approached her; she looked up and could see his cautious steps, his hands slightly raised, awaiting some sort of an attack by her.
Aila blinked in return, tilting her head to the side with a silent questionable look at Davian’s hands. "You are in a state of blood lust right now.." He began to explain slowly. "Sometimes.. it can overtake your mind."
Aila’s gaze lowered to Cassius’ still, smooth features. "Like it did you?" She asked, only now realising the whole floor was suddenly silent.
"Yes.." He whispered, and she could hear how much he loathed himself. Loathed what he’d become and what he’d done.
"These are no innocents," Aila replied, wiping her hand across her mouth, removing some of the stickiness of blood, and resisting the urge to lick her lips instead.
"You might still hurt us.."
Aila snapped her gaze back to her ancestor. "Then leave," her voice became as cold as steel, her eyes hardening as she began to stand again. "I have no intention of stopping here. Not now.." Her gaze followed back to the room where Clint still lay. "And it may get a little.. bloody.
Bloodier.."
Harry stepped forward then, crossing his arms. "Aren’t you wasting time watching this prick get up then?"
Aila grinned then, enjoying the lightness returning to her chest at Harry’s jest, compared to Davian’s sorrowful existence. It really was, and if she was in her better state of mind, she’d feel compassion towards him. But right now, she couldn’t find her own humanity, let alone reach out and comfort and understand another.
"Tell me when he starts to stir.." Aila replied, turning her back to the pair; she then mind-linked Harry, still in her right mind, not to let Davian in on anything that he might report to Cassius. "It may be useful to know how long Cass is out cold for."
"On it," Harry responded quickly, earning a smile from Aila, who swept her gaze around the office, the bodies slumped in chairs, on the ground, all a bloody mess. But she only had her eyes now set on Clint.
With him still unconscious, Aila bound his hands and legs together with cable ties she found in a metal cupboard behind the large desk. She noted how everything was tidy; there were no smudges on the window, fingerprints on the black metallic sleek desk, no dust, nothing. It was almost like the man had never worked there.
No photo frames littered his desk; not even a plant or some semblance of himself was in the room.
Maybe that in itself was telling. Clint was a clean freak. She remembered from the.. she shivered, from the time they ’spent together’. Once he was tied up, Aila wiped her bloodied hands across his desk, then went to the window, bit into her finger with her fang and spilt her own blood on there, leaving a note to the hunters who’d find this place.
As she expected of the hunter, he had multiple choices of weaponry in the cabinet behind his desk, and she rummaged through it until she found exactly what she was looking for. Though she still grabbed a few extra weapons that would be useful.
A smile lit up Aila’s features as she sat down in the seat and stretched her legs on the desk, ankles crossing as she watched Clint beginning to stir. She twisted a knife in her hand. Clint’s knife. One she recognised quite well. They’d been acquainted a while back when the psychopath started to leave cuts on her skin.
Maybe she was the psychopath now?
Just thinking about the memory brought a hot flush to her skin, a scratching feeling across her chest where he’d tried to brand her. Aila hissed, not realising she’d twisted the knife into her flesh as the resentment and hatred of the man started to simmer beneath the surface again. The outskirts of her vision were slowly blurring out in a red hue, and she could see the pulsing of her eyes.
Clint started to blink his eyes open and began to scoot up against the closed door. "Aila Cross," he said in a raspy voice, his eyes gleaming in amusement. It pissed her off.
"Weren’t you expecting me?" She asked too sweetly, a smile growing on her face, revealing her fangs again. "Or did you not think I’d beat death?"
Clint’s throat wobbled from swallowing, the only sign he was nervous. "You’re a hybrid.." He trailed off, waiting for Aila to fill in the blanks, but she didn’t; she watched him try to inconspicuously let loose of the ties over his wrists. But he should know better than anyone, considering the number of people he had tortured in the past.
"As sharp as ever.." Aila appeared in front of him in a single blink, and she grabbed his wrists, pulling him to his feet before kicking the door wide open and off its hinges. "You know why I’m here, I’m sure.." She trailed off, meeting Cassius’ burning gaze. He was back to normal, standing and seemed to have been pacing until he heard their entrance.
"But first.. I wanted to know if you liked how we redecorated the place?" Aila smiled again, finding a spring in her step as they stepped over fallen bodies, the sound of blood dripping and the smell wafting in the air. Clint was a germaphobe, and even watching the way his face twisted in disgust sent a little thrill of giddiness through her.
"Where are you taking him, my pet?" Cassius followed behind her, his hands behind his back as he took in her state.
"To the rooftop," Aila beamed back, her voice musical and full of mischief. "I have just the idea of what to do with a man like him."
