Gisila’s smile turned cruel, and she pushed her fingers through the right eye hole and mouth hole of my mask and clenched her hand. The right half of the mask warped then crumbled, the fragments falling to the hospital floor before the surviving left half of the mask fell. “Too bad. You won’t be needing them anymore.”
She wants me dead. Because I saw her with the mercenaries?
Gisila stepped closer to my bed, her smirk growing.
I watched her, waiting for my optimal chance. “Why are you trying to break into Tutu’s?” I asked on a whim, hopeful she might answer if she really thought she was going to off me.
Gisila shook her head, her beautiful purple hair swirling around her. “Don’t trouble yourself, slayer.”
Looks like she’s not narcissistic enough to answer any questions. Maybe if I get her mad? That tactic frequently works on vampires and werewolves.
She stretched out her hand. Her nails—manicured and painted with a marbled purple and black pattern—were extra-long and filed to points.
I waited until she was at my bedside—which put me in a disadvantageous position as I was lower than her. Her smile widened as she reached for my throat, and I struck.
I flung the plastic remote that controlled my bed, hitting her under the chin so her head snapped back. Ideally, I’d go for her throat, but since I was sitting on my bed it was out of reach, and I couldn’t risk letting go of my only weapon.
Instead, I stabbed her in the side. The blade—designed for stabbing—cut through her dress and dug into the muscle.
Gisila uttered a roar of pain and staggered backwards.
I clutched my dagger so the blade slid free as she backed away, and she started bleeding profusely.
“You worm,” Gisila growled, her voice losing all its polish.
She darted forward, evading my attempt to stab her gut, and backhanded me with enough force to almost make me collapse backwards and fall into my bed.
I caught myself—bracing with my core—but before I could recover Gisila wrapped her hand around my throat and squeezed.
I’d held my breath in preparation, so I was ready for the attack. But her nails still hurt as she dug them into the delicate skin of my neck.
Regroup!
I shifted my grip on Considine’s dagger, intending to stab her in the ribs this time, when a shadow broke off from the wall and gathered behind Gisila.
Considine.
I thought he’d warn her first—maybe make a few threatening statements like Gisila had.
Instead, he grabbed her by the shoulder, yanked her backwards, and then flung her to the ground with so much strength all the air expelled from her body in a large croaking gasp.
Checking my throat for blood—worry over my poisonous blood broiled in the back of my mind for Connor, until I remembered he was Considine—I leaned over the side of the bed.
Considine placed his foot on Gisila’s throat and stepped down.
Gisila squirmed, clawing at his boot as her face turned colors from the lack of air. “C-Considine?” she managed to squeeze out, her eyes wide with shock as she peered up at his shadowed face.
Considine watched her impassively, seemingly waiting for… I didn’t know what.
“She’s after me,” I said. “Though I don’t know why—I’m just one member of the task force. Even if she killed me, they’d still come for her.”
“She’s trying to minimize threats,” Considine said. “You’re the biggest, so you are the lucky recipient of her attention. Until now.” He continued watching her scrabble as if she were a bug and didn’t react even when she tried to claw at his leg with her sharpened nails.
Gisila’s lips turned blue from lack of oxygen and her skin was almost a grayish hue. She’s getting close to suffocating—how far is he going to push this? I thought the plan was just to bait her.
Considine’s expression was nonchalant, but his red eyes had a murderous glint I hadn’t seen in them before. （Admittedly, he might have been flashing that look around during his nightly rounds as Ruin and I’d have never known thanks to his enchanted hood.）
I swapped my dagger from my right to my left hand, then grabbed the left sleeve of Considine’s spelled shirt. “Considine, you can’t kill her,” I said. “Her bloodline would be furious.”
“I already thought of that, yes.” Considine’s murderous gaze remained locked on Gisila. “But it also occurred to me that there might be a few ways around that.” He smiled, and Gisila kicked her legs—struggling for air.