Not only was their prey here, but he had someone with him.
Anger was a living monster within Jelisette’s veins. Flashes of memories she long kept buried forced their way to the forefront of her mind.
Large hands, holding her down. Begging for mercy. Heavy hips pinning her to the ground. Laughter when she cried. Pain. So much fucking pain.
Her heart raced in her chest. Each pulse was a drum, an echo of cries that had once slipped past her lips.
She'd been too weak to save herself that time long ago. Too weak to stop him.
Not fucking anymore. Now, Isvana's power ran through her veins. She was a creature of the night, meant for death and destruction. She would be damned if she allowed someone else to suffer in the same way she did.
Jelisette's shadows flooded out of her, darkening the space around her like a cloak of the night. Before her, Emery did the same. They were swathed in darkness, and they moved as one towards their prey. They did not have weapons because they didn't need them.
Each of their bodies was as lethal as a dozen mortal weapons. Knives and guns had nothing against their Ithiar-blessed bodies.
The cries grew louder.
Jelisette's anger throbbed in her veins. Her nails dug into her palms, leaving crescent moons behind.
“Faster,” she hissed at Emery.
He took one look at her and nodded. They ran through the night, shadows streaming around them both as they moved with the speed of their kind. Jelisette would be damned if they were too late to save this woman, whoever she was.
Finally, after all these years, she had a purpose once more.
Seconds trickled by. Minutes? It didn’t matter. Nothing did except the impending death of the horrible man they hunted.
Finally, they rounded the last corner.
Horror unfurled in Jelisette’s stomach as she took in the scene before them. It was like reliving a nightmare.
Thorn was half-naked, wearing only a pair of jeans. His back muscles rippled, and his brown hair was pulled back as he towered over a rail-thin woman cowering in the corner.
The woman was frantically pulling her dress over her body and kicking weakly at the man. “Stop,” she cried out. “Please.”
Jelisette didn’t wait to see anything else. She didn’t look at Emery to ask if he had a plan, nor did she stop long enough to wonder whether the werewolf had any silver weapons that might harm her. She didn’t do anything except snarl viciously at Thorn as she shed her cloak of darkness and launched herself at the werewolf.
Death was the only thing he deserved.
CHAPTER 6
Death was an Art Form
Emery had always considered himself a good killer. It wasn’t exactly a title he enjoyed having, but he was an honest vampire, and he could admit the truth to himself.
But Jelisette?
She took death to another level. It was an art form. He watched her work, wholly impressed by the way she killed the werewolf.
She was violently gorgeous as she slammed her fangs into Thorn’s throat. Beautiful as she clawed at him, pulling him away from the poor woman in the corner. Stunning as blood poured like a fountain from the werewolf’s throat, coating her in red.
Right then, Emery knew he would do whatever it took to keep Jelisette de la Point by his side. How could he let such a magnificent creature go?
He was so enamored by the violent vampire in front of him that he didn’t hear it. A whispered snarl behind him. A pebble skittering on shale. A warning.
Jelisette turned, a violent smile carved onto her face, as she let Thorn’s mangled body fall.
“The bastard is—look out!”