Page 7 of Our Vicious Descent
Layla opened her mouth to refuse, but the cornered Saint member fell into a fit of coughing so bad, blood sprayed from his lips. The smell alone was enough to make Layla’s skin heat. It overrode the woman’s odor, and she found herself gazing at the fresh blood dripping down his chin. Layla didn’t realize quite how vulnerable she had made herself until the woman’s hand came swiping up to touch her fangs. The moment her fingers made contact with her teeth, Layla reared back and slammed her hand into the woman’s throat. She flew into the wall, her head snapping against the brick hard enough to leave a smear of blood behind. Any other day, Layla might have worried about fresh human blood being spilled so close to her while she was on the brink of a blood fury, but the substance that came from this woman could only be described as rotten.
The woman’s face had changed. Red covered the whites of her eyes like crimson curtains, and black veins spiraled out beneath her lips and across her cheeks. It was as if her face, a bronzed picture of beauty, had begun to crack and splinter. Her jaw unhinged in a guttural scream that ended in choking as she collapsed. Black and red fluids fountained from her mouth and eyes. Her skin seemed to melt with the substance as her body sloughed into a puddle of blood and guts. At once the woman had become nothing more than rotten, necrotized flesh. Layla had seen many horrific things in her life, but never had she seen something as disturbing as this. No reaper, no matter how cruel, could have justified feeding on such a poisoned corpse.
Layla still felt the woman’s touch on her mouth. Her hand drifted to her lips, where her fangs had dug in and drawn blood. She thought back to her patron that night—the woman with the mask who now carried a vial of her venom—and how Layla should have been tracking her by now to get it back.
“What did you do?” one of the gangsters demanded. His partner stood behind him with wide eyes and a dropped jaw. Even the Saint member, who had only just recovered from his coughing fit, looked dumbfounded.
Panic clutched Layla’s chest like a fist made of flames. She backed away from the carnage, her hands shaking as she traced the steps her patron must have taken out of the alley. There was no point in trying to answer the gangster’s question. Not while someone still existed with her venom—the very thing that could have caused such a macabre end.
Layla sprinted, grateful for the rush of fresh air against her face. She gulped in breath after breath, occasionally catching whiffs of her patron, albeit faint. With adrenaline spurring her on, Layla caught up to the young woman’s fresh tracks in the ice-slicked streets. She found her hurrying across the way, mask and vial in hand. Layla almost slumped with relief. Her pace quickened, and she barreled right for the young woman. Before they could make contact, however, something heavy slammed into her. She fell backward, the snow cushioning her fall as her head hit the ground. Layla tried to roll onto her feet, but a man pressed her into the ice, his body—nearly twice her size—pinning her arms and legs to the spot. Blinking with surprise, Layla’s eyes met angry amber ones that she had once known to show her tender love.
“Sterling—” she gasped.
“You don’t know how much trouble you’re in, Quinn,” the Saint member snarled.
At her full strength, Layla would have been able to overpower him with the perks of her reaper affliction. But now, with her body starved going on a month now, she could only fight the urge to bite into the flutter of blood rushing through his jugular. The cold touch of metal from the gun he pressed against her chin didn’t help either.
A light giggle sounded nearby, and Layla cursed as the young woman ran off with her venom. Had Layla been fully fed, she would not have fallen into this trap; her mind would have been able to focus on her surroundings, rather than just on the hunt before her. Now Layla was no better than prey trapped by a worsepredator. She glared up at Sterling, whose own frown had not let up. “Kill me then. Fucking kill me,” she snapped. Venom seared over her words, and even Sterling looked taken aback by her conviction.
His gun hand faltered a bit, but he did not let her go.
All Layla could think about was what Valeriya had said to her when she had found Layla standing on the roof of the Clarice five years ago, Saint bullets in one hand and a gun in the other.When a reaper has had enough—when her grief has grown longer than her days and immortality has become more a curse than a blessing—she wants nothing more than to drive the blade into her own heart. But now is not your time, Layla. Ma chère. Give me the gun.
Even unspoken, the words tasted bitter on her tongue. Layla wasn’t sure she could believe them anymore.
“This is what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it, Sterling?” she hissed. “Because you’ve always been so fucking jealous that Elise liked me more than you. She loved me. You tried so hard, but you were never enough. Not for her, not for Josi, and never for Tobias. You’ll never have another family, no matter how hard you try—” Her breath caught as Sterling shoved the gun deeper into her throat. She felt her own pulse beating against the barrel, saw the fear mixing with anger in his eyes. How similar they once had been, the two of them—orphans shrouded in darkness and begging for something light. Perhaps in another life, they would have grown together rather than apart. Maybe Layla would have been able to convince him that the Saints caused him more hurt than healing. Looking into his eyes, shesaw herself amid the hate. How long could she belittle him before it came back to hurt her just as deeply?
Her fangs, bloody and slick with her venom, dug into her lower lip. The pain nearly matched the anguish in Sterling’s gaze, but Layla ignored it and allowed her own blood to spill over her chin. When it hit the ground beneath them, all she could see was Elise bleeding out and dying on the floor of the Alhambra with Sterling’s bullet in her chest. Layla hissed and forced as much ice as she could behind her next words. “If you don’t kill me now, I’ll kill you.”
Much to her surprise, Sterling shook his head and loosened his grip on her arm. The pressure of his body on hers lessened, but she still felt the heat of his ire. “I won’t give you that satisfaction. You owe me an explanation for whatever the hell is going on, and you owe me the location of Elise and Josephine.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Layla gritted out.
“A drug is spreading and it’s killing people. It’s coming from this club.”
As if on cue, a commotion sounded at the blood house Layla had just escaped from. Sterling looked up, and the moment his gun slipped away from her throat, Layla took her chance. She shoved him onto his back, her hands going around his neck.
Sterling gasped for air as her fingers dug in. Blood burst from the vessels in his eyes, and Layla tightened her grip, feeling the rush of satisfaction and pleasure coursing through her veins. It wasn’t until he began to writhe beneath her that she felt her senses return. The bloodred mist over her vision receded, and she released him,her hands stiff and trembling as she took in her actions. Once again, the poison Layla had tried so long to nurse into dormancy shifted in her system. Memories of the Alhambra and the heads she had torn from bodies under the wrath of Dr. Harding and Stephen Wayne’s poison emerged. Her rage then had nearly consumed her. Now Layla almost let it happen again.
She released Sterling and bolted before he could finish catching his breath. The pull of the beast lurking within her only grew stronger with each step she took back to her lair.
5
The following morning, Elise was still staring at her map. All night she had sat and stared and thought. Even with more information on Stephen’s whereabouts, she could not find anything that connected to the new poison seemingly hitting blood houses in Harlem. If a scientist was involved, they were acting far outside the area.
There was an ache in her bones that went so deep, even slight movements became agony. So, when Jamie emerged from his bedroom with the cat trotting after him, all she could do was slide her gaze over to watch his expression go from tired to alarmed.
“Fine.” Jamie shoved the map with the edge of his slipper, sending it out of Elise’s line of sight. Shaking with anger and pain, she tried to rise to her feet, but Jamie held his hand out, stopping her. “What do you need to hear to make you sleep at night?”
Elise lowered her hands. Already, relief loosened her muscles and the tension in her head faded as she watched Jamie. “That mysister is okay.”
Jamie hesitated. His brows bunched together as he pursed his lips, thinking. “I should not be telling you this, but your sister is just fine. She’s safe with your parents. You do not need to worry about her. Layla made sure of that,” he said. His voice had gone quiet, but the sentiment echoed loudly in Elise’s head.
It was all she had been wanting to hear for months. But some part of it still felt wrong. Despite Layla keeping her distance, she continued to look out for Elise’s sister? That tiny thread between them—the small hope Elise held on to the past two months—went taut. Layla’s presence reached out to her just through his words. “Josi is okay?”
Jamie nodded, though he looked away.
More devastating thoughts threatened to crowd Elise’s mind—specifically the possibility of Josi still being infected from Valeriya’s venom, but she forced them out by turning to the next most important subject. “And…what abouther?”
