the beautiful grave (book II)

lightning strikes

WARNING: this chapter contains sexual content and gore
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frost

Frost had taken an unconscious Skye Bleu back to his dorm room, believing he might get some information from her once she awoke.

     At first, he'd doubted his ability back in the graveyard – apparently he wasn't that good with keeping up with surprisingly fast vampire hunters – but then knew he had to get it over and done with before she killed him first. She was going to (she'd even pulled the trigger)... but in the end, her anger had clouded over her vision to see he was lying about his request.

     He gently placed her down on his mattress, surprising himself when he thought of what she might look like under that red leather suit she wore. He prevented himself from looking. He was in no place to do that to her. She was unconscious, after all.

     She'd freak out if she woke up to him ogling her like a perverted old man.

     However, the moment she opened her eyes, he was welcomed with hate and malice.

     "I will be the death of you."

     He chuckled, sitting back in his plush sofa and eyeing her closely. Her pink eyes seemed red in the light.

     "Then you're too late."

     She grunted, staring down at her hands to find them still free. She itched anxiously at her wrists, clearing her throat, thinking she'd strayed his attention.

     Frost didn't know what to do, how he should handle the situation. He'd been targeted for attempted murder many times, but never from a girl – or a hunter at that. In all his seventy five years as a creature of the night, he'd never come across one. Why did it have to be now, of all times, just when his Lily was gone and he needed to feel something (anything), just as long as it wasn't anger or pain?

     Skye looked like she was going to make a beeline for the door, but whenever she looked at him and saw he was relaxed, she did the same.

     "Why didn't you bind me?" She narrowed her strangely appealing pink eyes at him, somehow not getting it.

     "I ran out of rope yesterday," He glared, leaning closer so he could read her better. Going by the flaring of her nostrils, this wasn't a time for jokes. "I don't restrict my victims."

     "So, I'm a victim?"

     God, everything had to be serious with this girl. If it weren't for the fact that he was (sort of) holding her prisoner, Frost would've thrown her out the room and told her not to come back until she regained her sense of humor. If they were at an apocalypse, then so say no one will be relying on her to keep things light.

     "That was the wrong word choice," He corrected as he lay back and swung his arm round the neck of the couch. She cocked her head. "I meant to say my respecting work colleagues."

     She made a sound close to disgust as she knocked her knees together. He picked up on it but she gave him a look of death, which he pretended to avoid and kept his eyes on the door. He was waiting for Violet to come strolling in and, no doubt, attack their hostage.

     She'd be here sometime, but for just now, he'd like to be with Skye on his own.

     "So, everything you said to me, was that even true? Or was it all just a lie to murder me in my sleep at night?" The hunter started off soft and innocent, but then fury gradually fell into place.