Cutting Evil

His blood was red. Not the dark thick dead stuff that leaked out of the vamps she beat to a pulp before staking, but bright and hot and living.

She hadn’t expected that.

Her weapon of choice was a knife, but the broken glass was sharp and cut just as well - only messier. She had gouges on her hands that she hadn’t noticed before. They were already scabbing over. Huh, so some of this gore was hers. Hers and his, mingled. Watcher and Slayer, combining their strengths to rid the world of…

Of what?

She’d treated him like one of the vamps, the animals, waiting for his pleas for mercy. But he hadn’t begged. Not once. And she’d had him figured as a total wuss. She’d straddled him as she cut and punched him, trying to scare him with sex as much as with her weapons. Still, not a crack.

She couldn’t have underestimated him. She’d known too many like him. Proper suits with their high falutin’ ways and their dirty, adolescent minds. She knew him and she’d make him show himself.

The torch was in her hand, and she checked her lighter. Yes, he’d break. He had to.