Kill Me

SAGE -

“Fucking Alexander.”

“Relax, sis.” Celeste’s voice carried through the narrow alley and cut straight through my irritation. She was leaning against the wall beside me, arms crossed, a lazy smirk playing on her lips that promised trouble in the best possible way.

“We’ll get the targets. It’s what we do. Have we ever proved him wrong?”

I let out a long, slow sigh that did nothing to dispel my mood. “No,” I admitted. “But he’s getting greedy, and it’s working on my nerves.”

He was a businessman at heart, and businessmen always wanted a better return on their investment, even when that investment was death itself.

I reached into my jacket, my fingers finding the familiar, comforting pack of cigarettes. I slipped one between my lips, but before I could even think about finding a lighter, Celeste’s hand darted out, quick as a striking snake. She plucked the cigarette from my mouth with an almost theatrical flourish and dropped it to the pavement, grinding it to a sad, broken little tube beneath the tip of her boot.

I just stared at her, my expression flat.

“Can you at least let me have one thing to enjoy tonight?”

“Of course,” she said, her tone as sweet as poison. “But filling your lungs with cancer isn’t helping anything.” Her eyes, so like mine yet holding a warmth I’d long since misplaced, held my gaze.

I scoffed, a harsh, humorless sound. “I’m already dead, Celeste. I don’t think a little smoke is going to hasten the end.”

“Yeah,” she shot back. “And I’d like to keep you around for another three hundred years. So quit the filthy habit and replace it with something else, will you?”

I rolled my eyes, but she wasn’t wrong. Celeste had always been the protective one, despite being the younger sister, she carried a fierce, maternal instinct for my well-being that I found both infuriating and, in the darkest moments, a little comforting.

“No promises,” I muttered.

Celeste laughed and shook her head.

“Fine. I’m heading home. You coming?” she asked.

I glanced over my shoulder, back towards the monolithic club. Noctis. Its black, windowless façade consumed the light around it, a perfect, unnatural void against the glittering chaos of the Manhattan skyline.

“Since we’re already here,” I said, the decision settling in my gut, “I might as well make the most of it.”

“And since you can’t smoke...” she prompted, a knowing grin spreading across her face.

“I’ll find my pleasure elsewhere.” I tilted my head, my gaze drifting back towards the club’s entrance.

“You mean that cute redhead you were eyeing five minutes ago?” she asked, her grin widening into something insufferable.

“Perhaps,” I said, a vague, noncommittal hum.

“Sure.” The word was heavy with disbelief. She started walking away, her figure becoming a silhouette against the neon glow of a nearby sign.

“Don’t stay out too late, sis.”

“I’ll try,” I called after her.

“You won’t.”

“I won’t.” I acknowledged the truth with a small, private smile.

She lifted a hand in a lazy wave without looking back, and I watched her until she was swallowed by the teeming, indifferent crowd, just another shadow lost in the relentless heart of New York. The moment she was gone, the weight of the night settled back on my shoulders.

Then I turned, the decision made.

Before I could take a step forward, a blade flashed toward my throat, and I jerked sideways just in time to feel the steel slice through empty air where my neck had been half a heartbeat earlier, the whisper of its passage cold against my skin.

The woman holding the other end of the knife didn’t hesitate.

Second strike, faster than the first. I caught her wrist before the knife could reach my ribs, my fingers closing around bone and sinew with a grip that would have shattered a human’s arm. The strain pulled her closer, her face inches from mine, and I found myself staring into eyes that were a cold, startling blue, devoid of warmth or hesitation. A strand of her blunt-cut blonde hair fell across her eye; she blew it away with a soft puff of air, her gaze never leaving mine.

“A bit aggressive for a first date,” I breathed, a hint of genuine amusement in my voice. The thrill of the fight was starting to burn away the residual anger from Alexander.

With surprising strength, she twisted free from my grip. In the same, fluid motion, she drove her elbow toward my jaw, a blow meant to break bone. I leaned back, the strike whistling past my chin. She followed without missing a beat, aiming a kick at my midsection. I caught her ankle, but she used the momentum to spin, her other hand suddenly producing a second knife from a hidden sheath. Two blades, gleaming in the dim light.

Interesting.

The hunt had just become a game.

“You always carry backups?” I asked, ducking under a wild, but precise, slash.

“You always talk this much?” Her voice was low, a gravelly murmur that held no emotion.

“Only when someone’s trying to murder me,” I replied, sidestepping another thrust.

She lunged again, a blur of motion.

This time, I let her get close enough to hear the steady, measured rhythm of her heartbeat. It was infuriatingly calm. Most humans’ pulses would be a frantic drum by now, a wild, screaming song of adrenaline. Hers was a cool, steady bass note.

I sidestepped at the last possible second, catching the lapel of her leather jacket. With a sharp yank, I spun her and shoved her hard into the brick wall that lined the alley. The impact was a satisfying, solid thud. Before I could pin her arm behind her back, a knee slammed into my stomach, driving the air from my lungs. I grunted, my grip loosening. She slipped away from me like smoke, reforming a few feet away, her stance reset, her eyes never leaving mine.

Disciplined.

Measured.

This was a professional hunt.

I straightened, brushing an invisible speck of dust from my sleeve, the pain in my gut a mere annoyance.

Who the hell are you?

She answered it before I could ask, her voice as cold as her eyes. “I’m not here to chat.”

“Pity.” I took a step to the side, my posture shifting from defensive to anticipatory. “I was just starting to enjoy myself.”

She rolled her shoulders, the knives catching the light. “I can fix that.”

Then she charged again, a predator in a leather jacket, and I met her in the middle of the alley.

The fight bled into something timeless, a strange and violent dance that stretched minutes into an eternity of steel and near misses. She was fast, and every move she made carried the weight of discipline that spoke of years upon years of training, each strike and feint executed with a precision that would have made even the oldest warriors I’d known nod in grudging respect.

But three hundred years had a habit of winning, and I’d learned lessons in those centuries that no amount of practice could teach.

I caught her wrist in a grip like iron, twisted the knife from her hand, and drove her against the brick wall hard enough to rattle the fire escape above us, sending a shower of rust and debris raining down around our shoulders.

My forearm pressed against her throat, not quite cutting off her air but close enough to remind her who held the advantage, and for the first time since she’d attacked me, neither of us moved.

Silence descended between us, broken only by the distant thrum of the city and the ragged sound of her breathing. Her chest rose and fell against mine in quick, sharp bursts, while my own breath barely changed – a reminder, if she needed one, of the gulf between what she was and what I had become.

I studied her face in the dim light, taking in the sharp line of her jaw, the stubborn set of her mouth, the way those cold blue eyes refused to show even a flicker of fear.

She was good. Better than most hunters I’d crossed paths with in my long, bloody existence. Still not good enough.

Then I caught it.

Her scent. It rose from her skin, subtle beneath the leather and sweat, but unmistakable once I noticed. Sweet. Warm. Different from anything I’d encountered in a very long time. It curled through the air between us like an invitation I hadn’t realized I’d been waiting for, something ancient and instinctive stirring in my chest.

Without thinking, I lowered my head, my lips hovering just above the curve of her throat, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her skin. I breathed her in, letting the scent settle into my lungs, and for a fraction of a second, I forgot where I was.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she said, her voice steadier now, though still carrying the ragged edges of exertion.

I pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, a slow smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

“Why’s that?” I murmured, letting my gaze drift down to her lips and back up again. “Little blonde girls are my favorite.”

Her expression didn’t shift. No blush, no flicker of unease, just that same flat, unreadable calm.

“Not this one.”

“No?” I tilted my head, curious despite myself.

“You won’t last another five minutes.” The certainty in her voice was absolute, delivered with the same matter-of-fact tone she might use to state the time or the weather. Not fear. Not a bluff. Fact.

That made me pause. I searched her face for any crack in the facade, any hint that she was posturing, and found nothing but cold, unwavering conviction. My grip loosened, just slightly.

“So either you’re threatening me,” I murmured, leaning in again, close enough that my lips brushed the shell of her ear, “or you know something I don’t.”

“Both.”

I chuckled, a low, genuine sound that rumbled in my chest.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

Before I could press her further, her knee drove into my ribs with surprising force, catching me off guard in the split second I’d let my focus drift. I grunted, my grip loosening, and half a second was all she needed. She slipped free like water through fingers, and suddenly the space between us was empty again, the cold night air rushing in to fill the void where her warmth had been.

Before I could fully reorient myself, her fist connected with my face, a sharp, precise blow that snapped my head sideways and sent a shock of pain radiating through my jaw.

Well. That was new.

I touched my lip with the tips of my fingers, and when I pulled them away, they came back streaked with blood, glossy and crimson in the dim alley light. I stared at it for a long second, and then I looked at her. A slow, genuine grin spread across my face, pulling at the fresh split in my lip.

“You have a sharp right hook,” I said, almost admiring.

She didn’t smile. “My left one isn't bad either.” Her voice was flat, but there was something beneath it now, a flicker of satisfaction she couldn’t quite hide.

I laughed, a low, rough sound that scraped against the back of my throat. “I like confidence.” I shifted my weight, rolling my shoulders back, ready to close the distance between us again and see what else she had in her.

I made it two steps when the club door swung open, and one of Noctis’ bouncers stepped out, a massive man with a shaved head and beard. His eyes bounced between the two of us, taking in my split lip, the blonde’s dishevelled jacket, the knife lying abandoned near the wall.

“Everything good out here?” His voice was calm, but there was a quiet warning to it.

Neither of us answered. We just stood there, chests rising and falling, our eyes locked on each other like the fight had only paused instead of ended.

The bouncer’s gaze lingered on my mouth, then on the knife, then back to me. I could see him weighing his options, deciding whether to step in or let whatever this was play out. I wiped the blood from my lip with my thumb, smearing it across my skin, and gave him my most reassuring smile.

“Everything’s fine,” I said, my voice light and easy.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.

“Sure doesn’t look like it,” the bouncer said.

“She has a terrible way of introducing herself,” I shruggedwhile I let my eyes drift back to the blonde, watching for her reaction. For the first time, I caught the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth, but it was gone as fast as it came.

The bouncer looked between us one more time, then shook his head and stepped back inside, pulling the door closed behind him. The warm light vanished, and the alley plunged back into shadow.

Now it was just the two of us again.

I tilted my head, studying her in the near-darkness. The faint glow from the streetlamp caught the edges of her face, the sharp line of her cheekbones, the way her hair fell across her forehead. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t taken the opening to run or to strike again. She was waiting.

“I didn’t catch your name,” I said, letting the words hang in the air between us.

“Good,” she replied. “Because I wasn’t offering it.”

I laughed again, softer this time.

“Alright. I just like to know who I’m dealing with. Call it professional courtesy before I put you down.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Fuck you,” she said, like I’d just insulted her honor.

“Oh, dear, I don’t think you can handle that,” I said taunting.