Pieces of music

(Takes place before The Puppet Master incident)

He’d heard the music coming from the top of the stairs as soon as he’d walked in. It was a slow song, the melody soft and delicate as he dropped his bag on the floor. Aarin had just returned from his private training with Daxcia, and the Hunter didn’t believe in going easy on him just because he was the Slayer’s favourite.

If anything, it made the Hunter strike him harder. Aarin preferred it that way. It was a good distraction from his thoughts, and he loved how frustrated Daxcia got when he couldn’t land a hit hard enough to knock him down. The Hunter didn’t know how predictable he was, and Aarin wasn’t about to ruin the fun and tell him.

Until today.

Today, Aarin’s temper got the best of him. Today, Aarin was too distracted to lose himself into a session with Daxcia, his thoughts too occupied with thoughts of the first year Slayer and the parasite that lived inside her head. He didn’t know he was distracted until Daxcia had him pinned on the floor with a hold that was restricting his air flow. Aarin couldn’t use the shadows to escape, and he was too pissed to try and reposition himself to get out of it. So, he tapped out. For the first time that he started training with the Hunter, he tapped out.

Daxcia was ecstatic and Aarin lost his shit and told the Hunter that his movements and attack patterns were predictable, and the students he taught were too naïve to see it and do anything about it. After a fistfight from hell that left both of them bruised, and battered, Daxcia dismissed him. Aarin was happy to leave. Annoyed, sure. Angry, absolutely. Distracted, too fucking right. And he needed to do something about it.

He was supposed to go back to Blood Rein Tower, but since Sinistra’s disappearance, Blood Rein Tower was a little messy, and Aarin just didn’t care. Honestly, with Sinistra gone there was a little less heat breathing down his neck, and he could focus on the things that mattered. Like Katelynn. And by unfortunate proxy, the sister he didn’t know existed until she came walking into the Slayer House.

The Slayer had her secrets, it seemed.

And wasn’t that a trend within this bloodline?

Aarin followed the music, past the old war room and rooms that were stacked with old tomes and books – far away from the little cove where he and the Slayer had made a little home in the rooms her ancestors had built first before constructing the rest of the fortress.

The Slayer House was a massive structure of wide arched hallways that split off into seven different wings of the house, and it just split further into more rooms, more passages and more secrets. Aarin had spent years, weeks, days exploring every single room within the house to keep his mind busy while the Slayer was away, while he was left to his own thirst, and think back on memories he couldn’t remember.

Aarin and the Slayer had never settled into any of the rooms, with the Slayer once saying that it felt too vast to be comfortable and had made the little alcove home for them even though it was far from the kitchens, or the bigger bedrooms. Aarin didn’t mind. It was a smaller space, and the proximity of the rooms forced them to be a little closer. Again, Aarin didn’t mind. At all.

In fact, he thought the alcoves were too big and there was too much space between him and the Slayer. When she wandered the rest of the house, it felt like she was somewhere else entirely, too. In another dimension, in another country, another town, just across the hall – all too far away from him.   

He stopped in what was one of many private libraries, on the side of the house once solely dedicated to the Slayer. Lives before the one that existed now. Aarin knew that Katelynn hated the wing. It was too separate from the Yalser side of the Blood House, too distant from the Salyeria side, and too lost to be considered hers.

Seeing her sitting in an old velvet red chair, listening to an ancient vinyl disk spinning around on the old gramophone record player. The static sound making the old orchestra sound fuzzy, the lone male singer sounding muted and distant – like another century was ghosting through the old stone walls, trying to find its place within the too-modern times that surrounded them.

Aarin leaned against the threshold, watching the Slayer as she sat in the chair staring ahead at the antique gramophone, the odd contraption was a heavy desk-shaped wooden box with a long arm placed over the spinning disk. The speakers built on either side, and a series of knobs and dials spread across the wide face of the invention. The lid was lifted to make the music louder, anchored by an elegantly carved stick that quivered ever so slightly with the swell of the music.

The display in front of him was like a wild painting, a strange mix of time with neither element really belonging as real life features and relics of their time. Neither quite belonged in the 21^st Century. Not the Victorian styled library with its old dark wooden shelves that scaled up to the ancient high ceilings of the fortress, cluttered with the muted colours of book spines of different sizes and all framed by delicate, and decorative arches that didn’t complement the square room. The record player playing old songs from the 50s didn’t match any of the vulgar, and loud patterned velvet 70s styled furniture that seemed too big for the room. And the Slayer, with her legs crossed, her face angled towards the music. Her long, pale blonde hair gently hung over the arms of the large wing-backed armchair, elbows resting between the cushioned corners while the tip of her boot-clad foot swayed to the old songs.

Each relic in their own time, and the Slayer was just a feature all on her own that seemed comfortable with every fragment. The way she had an ancient book in her lap, the way she sank into the old furniture, and seemed to get lost in the crooning of a man singing about how he couldn’t help falling in love…

Aarin wanted to interrupt the Slayer and ask her about her investigation into the happenings in the Academy. She’d seemed rattled since her sister appeared, not that anyone other than Aarin would know because no one knew her like he did. She’d been suspicious of the little first year, and after challenging her to find her way into Blood Rein Tower, she’d seemed somewhat distant from him. He didn’t know why, but knew that the events of Sinistra, and the things happening in the Real World didn’t ease her burdens.

Right then and there, he wanted to tell her that she was right to suspect the other Slayer. He wanted to tell her that she was doing the right thing in investigating the little Slayer and should ask her about the voice he himself had heard telling her lies about his Slayer, and how she would kill one of her own.

Aarin steeled his nerves and stepped into the room but stopped.

The Slayer was asleep in her chair. Her chest rising and falling with a lightness he hadn’t sensed around her in months. Her foot was still swaying to the music even though his Slayer was far away from the room she now dozed in. Aarin sighed, carefully taking the book out of her lap and setting it on one of the side tables. Like him, his Slayer hadn’t slept well in days, her thoughts borderline obsessing over the first year Slayer that had carved a place for herself on campus. It was an odd obsession that made Aarin feel lost, and with no way to bring his Katelynn back to him.

After all, the two sisters didn’t realize how similar they were. Katelynn had her own demons to face, and they were closer to the Slayer than the voice in Kyria’s mind.

And had a much bigger influence on his Slayer, as they were all her voices from different pieces of her lives. Past lives replaying like they were Katelynn’s own memories, mirroring situations that had happened before but now were happening to Katelynn. Conversations she’d had thousands, and thousands of times that she now answered in her voice – as Katelynn.

He felt so sorry for her.

While he had no memories of his own, Katelynn was so similar but in the exact opposite way. While everything Aarin was experiencing and holding onto, Katelynn had been through it in countless lifetimes. While every experience was unique to Aarin, absolutely nothing was new, and bright, and pure to his precious Slayer. Katelynn had nothing that truly belonged to Katelynn herself. Nothing was solely hers and unshared by the countless existences of her past lives.

Not even Aarin, as he’d seen her thoughts – her memories playing like old reels that mirrored others where some version of her and found a stray like him and kept them close. Aarin had seen a Witch have almost the same conversations that he and Katelynn had shared. He’d seen a new-born Werewolf lost from his pack that the Slayer had claimed as his Ward. He’d seen an earlier version of Katelynn, with all of the mannerisms exactly the same, arguing with Titan about his feeding habits when the General-turned-Headmaster was much younger and hungrier.

Nothing truly belonged to Katelynn. She’d done all of this thousands of times.

With a sigh, Aarin shrugged out of his large SMT Academy jacket and gently threw it over his Slayer. Tucking in her arms, and her chin, making sure that her shoulders were covered even though the cold never bugged her.

His Slayer was fast asleep. A string of her hair had gently grazed over her face, catching on to her eyelashes. Aarin reached out to tuck the soft tendril behind her ear, but the Third Year stopped, catching himself. He could almost feel the heat from her face just caressing his fingertips. It would be so easy to touch her cheek. It would be so easy to kiss her brow. It would be so easy to rouse his Slayer awake with a kiss—

The shadows crashed against Aarin’s shins like a wave. The shadows clawing up his legs and taking him under into a tumble of darkness, and nothingness until he couldn’t smell his Slayer anymore. He closed his eyes, letting the shadows rush over him and toss his body around like he was lost in the ocean. The cold sinking deep into his bones, inking everything so black that he couldn’t tell himself apart from the shadows that surrounded him until the smell of coffee wafted through the nothingness. Gone were the traces of power that followed his Slayer. Gone was the scent of freshly forged steel that hung on her breath. Gone was the tempting scent of her skin – her blood.

The smell of coffee was overwhelming now. Aarin could feel a solid corner pushing into the meat of his palm and could feel a bumpy surface against his back. With a deep exhale that seemed to get rid of all of his energy, he dismissed the shadows. Slowly, reluctantly, the shadows slank back to their dark corners, and dusty crevices. Slowly, they peeled their tendrils from his flesh, pulling their darkness out of his veins until a soft muted orange light came into view, blinding him as he waited for the dizziness to subside so he could adjust to his new location.

The Underground Coffeeshop.

The scents were familiar. The harbor was just outside the rocky windows; the smell of fish being traded just beyond the underground staircase. The smell of books that Aarin had to admit was not one of his favourites. Neither was the smell of coffee. Beneath his feet, Aarin was familiar with the thin dark red carpet, and the bookcase pressing against his back.

The Vampire stumbled forward, catching himself as he surfaced from the dark corner of the establishment, finding Ben standing behind the bar cleaning one of the glasses absentmindedly, his head swaying to the sound of some hip-hop song that was quietly bopping over the speakers. And in front of Ben was a plastic bottle with a black cap. A straw placed beside it as a punchline.

“You’re gonna have to drink up eventually,” Ben said to the empty store.

Aarin slinked out from behind the shelves, catching himself on the bar top before he completely fell onto the floor. He glared up at the Fallen, “Not hungry, right now.”

Ben nodded as he set the glass down, “Sure. Sure. And the fact that you might decorate my bar top at any second now has nothing to do with it.”

Aarin clambered onto a stool. He ran his hands through his hair as he let out a sigh, “As if I’d waste any of my fluids on your bar top,” Aarin pushed the Blood Bottle further away from him and leaned on the table, urging himself not to breathe too hard.  “I’m not staying too long.”

“You won’t be able to shadow your way back to the Blood House,” Ben picked up the bottle, cracking open the lid and pouring the dark red contents into the glass he’d just cleaned.

The smell hit Aarin with force. So much so that he clutched a lip underneath the countertop and felt the granite crumble under his fingertips. His shoulders were quivering. His vision tunneled until all he could see was the glass in front of him. The coffeeshop had vanished. Ben’s massive shape was gone. Only darkness surrounded Aarin, and the shadows seemed to claw themselves towards the glass. Teeth and fangs scratching along the walls, fighting just to catch a whiff of the scent.

Aarin’s chest tightened painfully. His heart thundered behind his ribs as if it too was dying to escape and consume the blood. Even pieces of his mind were trying to make the consequences seem not as dire.

Who needs memories—

This power is a good thing—

This weakness isn’t worth this pain—

Oh, and it was so painful. Being so thirsty, so hungry, it was so incredibly painful. His bones felt like they would snap with every passing second, but at least he could close his eyes and see the blue and green eyes of the Slayer that saved him. It felt as if his limbs were attacking themselves, stripping the skin from the muscles that were constantly pulsing and buzzing, but at least he could hear the Slayer’s voice. His blood was a constant current of electricity burning through his veins, igniting his arteries, erupting through his blood but at least he could feel the Slayer’s touch.

The darkness closing in, closing in, closing in around his lungs, around his heart, his mind, his body until it felt like he couldn’t breathe was chasing him, chasing him, chasing him—

But she was there. His Slayer was there. Touching him. Speaking to him. Breathing him in, and he was breathing her in. Aarin would forever fight the darkness, the pain, the shadows that were so desperate for him to get lost within their tendrils, within their embrace but he wouldn’t let Katelynn go for all the power in the world.

All the power he could have if he just drank…

And drank…

And drank…

Aarin snapped to his feet, racing for the door and before Ben could say anything, the third year student was out on the street. The bitter cold air was piercing his bare skin. The frigid ocean air prickled against his face until it stung and burned. The grey sky, and grey ocean stretched out in front of him until nothingness framed the dark horizon. His hair soaked up the wet air, spiked his lashes and burned his nose while he inhaled deeply. Again, and again.

He breathed in the sea-smell of freshly caught fish from the harbor. He breathed in the smell of freshly ground spices – too many to name, too many to trace – until it felt like his lungs was drowning in the scent. He inhaled the smell of passing students, dock workers and passersby until nothing of that small, tempting, dangerous glass of blood was erased.

And then he caught her scent.

Aarin couldn’t hear their thoughts now as it was drowned out by their singing, and loud laughs. He knew they weren’t close, not anywhere near Ben’s shop, or near the markets that trickled up to the massive towers that formed Bedlam, past the bars and eateries that the locals haunted on late nights and on the weekends. He stalked past doors that were closed to keep the cold out and passed slightly ajar windows until he found their scent. Tracking it around corridors, and alleyways, sticking to the shadows that always welcomed him.

From behind a passing bar, shouts and cheers were bursting from the steamed-up windows. Aarin felt the sting of the cold prickle against his skin, letting the ice that hung in the air crystallize over his bare arms until he caught the ends of the Slayer’s sister’s loud laughter. And he stopped.

He’s heard her laugh before. It had been a while, but she’d often laughed at her Second’s remarks and jokes. The sound was so innocent, tinkling, like windchimes but somehow the lilting sound haunted the back of his brain on nights he didn’t sleep. It reminded him of the mirrors hanging in the Blood Forest. The shards themselves were creepy, and eerie but the sound…it was the sounds of Souls singing, hearts beating. It was…pretty…

Aarin stopped. Just listening to the sound of the little first year Slayer laughing, and her Second joining in. He’d never heard Katelynn laugh. Huff out a chuckle, sure. Smile, sometimes. He’d never heard her laugh. Didn’t think Slayers knew how until Kyria appeared like an apparition at the bottom of the staircase.

Aarin peeked around the corner and found the first year Slayer, zigzagging across the street, arms linked with her Second. And he couldn’t help studying the pieces that he saw in his Slayer and the new Slayer. It was like looking at a ghost except not really. A mirror, maybe? A broken mirror using the pieces of other mirrors to reflect the image of the Slayer. Except, it wasn’t exactly the Slayer, was it? It was Katelynn but pieces weren’t the same.

The long tendrils of hair were darker – bronze and gold, with an odd tinge of strawberry blonde highlighted in between the tumble of waves and frizz. Her skin was paler, almost as pale as him minus the blushing of red across her cheeks, and the mess of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She was shorter than his Slayer – not by much. Maybe a few inches. She was curvier than Katelynn, too. She had… assets that his Slayer was missing – he couldn’t help but notice. But everything else she shared with Katelynn, and it made him feel uncomfortable. They had the same face, the same lips, a similar nose and then the little first year smiled, and he couldn’t see any trace of Katelynn. Well, no trace of her except the eyes. The bright, warm, forest green that belonged to the Salyeria Clan, and the too-clear, icy cold blue of the Yalser Clan.     

And there she was – the broken-pieces of the Slayer he thought he knew, reshaped and put together in someone that was her polar opposite. Kyria.

From his corner, Aarin watched the first year student and her Second laughing as if they hadn’t been through hell the last few months. The two of them skipping along the sidewalk, her Second’s hands swaying to some music that the two first year students had been singing, bags in hand from shopping adventures accomplished in Grave Point. Emi made his Slayer laugh loudly, spinning them around as her hair, his hoodie and their bags swirled. Aarin recognized the name of the store and knew that they’d purchased some new training clothes for the year. Aarin could tell that the Second had gotten bigger, gained more muscle and mass since he started training. He wondered if the little first year Slayer had gotten clothes in a smaller size seeing as she’d lost weight from when she appeared at the bottom of the Blood House staircase.

Losing weight wasn’t unusual. Especially for first year students. But Kyria wasn’t gaining muscle even though she was getting stronger. She wasn’t gaining mass because she wasn’t eating. She wasn’t growing physically because she wasn’t sleeping well. Even though the evaluations were saying that everything was fine, Aarin could see that she wasn’t well.

He wasn’t the only one.

Emi had become uncomfortable with his Slayer’s silence. Aarin knew why, but why didn’t she tell her Second? From what he’d known about Emilizer, her Second would much rather cut out his own tongue than hurt Kyria. The secret voice in her head would’ve been safest with Emi as every now and then, Kyria’s body betrayed her. A bloody nose. Nightmares. The headaches that were so severe they pulled Aarin away from his own bad dreams. Katelynn noticed it, too, but no one was saying anything, and Aarin didn’t know why.

Aarin rounded the corner, intending to make his way towards them when they stopped suddenly. Kyria took their bags and set them under a light post, pushing up the sleeves of her jacket up to her elbow and grabbing her Second’s hands. Aarin held his breath as he watched the first year Slayer set her Second’s hand on her hip and held out the other for him to take. He watched as her Second laughed loudly but complied, allowing his Slayer to lead as they danced around the lamp post.

Danced.

To a song that Kyria was singing until Emi joined.

In perfect sync as Aarin knew Slayers and their Seconds to be, as Emi held her hip and turned her. Their feet matched the rhythm they created as Emi held his arm up, and Kyria spun out, and spun back in against Emi’s chest. Turning, and twirling. Dancing in the bitter cold with their faces tinged red, noses leaking, and wide smiles – Aarin watched as Emi and Kyria danced around the pole. Waltzing to a song that they both were singing at the top of their lungs. Dancing, and dancing until they came to a stop. Finding Aarin staring at them.

Somehow, he’d walked to them without realizing. Entranced by how close they stood. How they moved to the song they sang, with Kyria’s singing slowly fading as she turned to face him. Aarin stared at her. Her red face, her wide eyes, her emotions so obvious to read unlike the Slayer that saved him.

“You okay there, buddy?” Emi asked next to him, for some reason shrugging out of his Academy jacket and handing it out to Aarin.

Aarin scowled at the black outfit outstretched towards him. Aarin didn’t feel the cold, not even a little. But he was frozen to the spot as Kyria took the jacket from her Second’s hand, shook it out and put it around Aarin’s shoulders. Moving so carefully so that her skin didn’t touch his. And didn’t that just piss him off?

He watched quietly as the first year Slayer refused to look up at him, “You’re pale. You should go home if it’s too cold.”

Emi laughed, “Vampires don’t feel the cold, Ky,” he rolled his eyes as he put his arm around the little Slayer’s shoulders. He pointed at Aarin with the hand that was too close to the first year Slayer’s neck, “You do look ill though, man. Should get that checked out.”

Now, Kyria rolled her eyes. And that shot something through him. A lightning strike that ran a powerful current through his heart. Still, even as she was suffering with all those migraines, headaches and voices, she still had an attitude.

“Vampires don’t get sick either,” she countered. Kyria crossed her arms over her chest, “You don’t look so hot, though.”

Aarin wanted to counter with something snarky and all but drenched with sarcasm. But he just narrowed his gaze on the little Slayer’s face, noting that her freckles were in different places compared to Katelynn with maybe one or two in almost the same position. Her lashes were blonde at the root, not all black like Katelynn’s. She had a gap in one eyebrow where hair didn’t grow into the thick arches because of a small, minuscule scar.

Aarin stepped closer, “What were you two doing?”

The two did that annoying thing that all Slayers and Seconds did – they shared a look, had some silent conversation pass between them in their eyes that not even Aarin could read within their minds and gave a small shrug. In perfect unison. As if they were the same person.

“Dancing?” Emi asked, his voice going higher.

Aarin grit his teeth, punching his arms through the sleeves of the jacket around his shoulders. “In the street?”

Kyria huffed out a laugh, and Aarin froze. Staring at her as she tucked a tendril of her unruly hair behind her ear, “We were just having fun. I know that must sound foreign to you as someone, y’know, who doesn’t have it.”

“It?” Aarin hissed.

“Fun,” Kyria arched a brow, that cocky grin pulling up the corner of her mouth as she jutted out her hip and fully sank into her attitude.

Emi became a buffer between them, angling his Slayer away from Aarin so that the Second was almost a shield between them. His hands outstretched to enforce peace, but he never took his arm off of the first year Slayer’s shoulders, “Okay, look. We’re heading home. We were just screwing around.”

“How do you do that?” Aarin heard himself asking, burying his hands in the pockets of the borrowed jacket.

Kyria’s attitude was on full display, “Have fun?”

“Screw around?” her Second quipped.

Aarin rolled his eyes and used the pocket to gesture between them. “No, idiots. That,” he made a circle with his covered hand. “Dance?”

Again, the Slayer and her Second shared a look and Emi removed his arm from around his Slayer. He scratched his temple, “I dunno, man. We just do. Years of practice, really.”

“Why?” Kyria asked, tilting her head to the side. “Have you never danced before?”

If he had, Aarin didn’t remember. He’d been in the small, underground clubs that inhabited the island solely to entertain the people that invited him out, but he never took to the dance floor, and he’d never watched anyone dance. It never intrigued him. He’s seen so many people get close enough to one another to practically share the same air, share one body and not once has the sight made him feel anything.

Until now. Until he saw the two first year students standing close to each other, hands on each other, swaying and singing and he wanted to do that, too. He wanted that, with Katelynn. He wanted to pluck her off the old armchair, put his hand on her hip and pull her flush against him and dance to the old music that filled the halls of the Slayer House. He just wanted to stand there with her, hold her close to him, and sway.

If it led to other things, cool. If not, awesome.

He just wanted to be with her. Breathe the same air. Share the same space. Pretend it was only them for one measly second until he realized that he didn’t know how. He didn’t know how he would hold her. Didn’t know where her hands would go on his body or where his eyes would linger. Then, he realized he didn’t know how to dance.

Emi laughed, tugging Aarin from his daydream as he sauntered forward and put his arm around Aarin’s shoulders. “Well, my friend. You are in luck! You have found the best teacher in town!”

Aarin hiked up an eyebrow, “You?”

Emi’s face soured, “Hell no,” he gestured dramatically to his Slayer. “Milady Kyria hath taught me all I need know about the battle on the dancefloor.”

Again, surprise has covered Aarin’s features as he turned to a now blushing Kyria, “Really? You?”

Kyria kicked up her chin, crossing her arms higher over her chest. “Why so surprised? I helped my brother, my cousins and that big log, standing next to you.”

“Log? Excuse me? I was made to dance,” Emi retorted back.

Aarin ignored the Second’s flare and stepped closer to Kyria. He didn’t untuck his hands from the pockets, didn’t soften his features or the roaring storm of energy he felt crashing against his shoulders as he peered down at the first year girl.

“Show me,” he said.

Kyria blinked, looking up at him finally. She swallowed hard, “What?”

“Show. Me,” Aarin ground out.

Kyria’s face hardened and she stepped away from him, “No—”

“Whoa. Ky,” her Second buffered between them again, turning to his Slayer. “Obviously the man is trying to learn a new skill to try and woo a lady friend. Help a guy out.”

Kyria stared at her Second. “You can’t be serious.”

Emi gave her his famous smile; the smile Aarin knew immediately captured the hearts of all those that looked upon it and he rolled his eyes as the Second grabbed his Slayer’s shoulders. “Ky, be a friend. You taught me to get a girl—”

Kyria’s mouth popped open, “That’s not why I taught you!”

“So, help a brother out,” Emi continued, pretending not to hear her. He turned to Aarin. “First lesson is free. The new ones we charge. Fifty bucks an hour.”

Kyria scoffed, pushing her Second aside, “Emi—”

“Okay, One-fifty. We gotta think of the costs,” her Second replied giving his Slayer a bright smile. Kyria was stubborn, and she dug her heels in by rolling her eyes and setting a hand on her hip. Emi sighed and gave a small chuckle. “Just give him some pointers, Princess. What’s the harm.  Please?”

It was interesting how easily Kyria swayed to her Second, and vice versa. With just a few blinks, a pout, and some puppy-dog eyes, the Slayer pushed her Second aside and stepped close to Aarin.

“Fine,” she grumbled, stepping closer to Aarin and running through her instructions but Aarin didn’t move. Emi slid behind him, unsheathing Aarin’s hands from the pockets and moving his arms to stretch out towards the first year Slayer.

Kyria rolled her eyes and stepped in between Aarin’s arms. Taking his hands on her hips and wrapping her arms around his neck, but there was a gap between them as the Second was all but breathing down Aarin’s neck, whispering to stand closer. Aarin turned to glare at him.

“Do you mind not breathing down my neck like you’re gonna take a bite out of me?” he asked, pushing the Second away from him.

The Hunter rolled his eyes, making some kind of choked sound. “It’s not my fault you’ve got Everest between you two. I promise, Vampire, she hasn’t got cooties.”

Aarin glared at him, “What the fuck are cooties?”

Emi shook off his question and put his palms together, “You gotta get closer. And don’t be so wooden, dude.”

“I thought she was teaching me?” Aarin hissed through gritted teeth.

“So far he’s right,” Kyria commented with a shrug.

Aarin whirled to face her, “Some teacher you are.”

Kyria twirled her hands out, “I’m only as good as my student.”

“Is this a joke to you?” Aarin demanded.

Kyria laughed, and the sound flitted through him. That lightning strike coursing through him again. The little Slayer giggled, “Quite frankly, yes. Why the hell do you wanna learn how to dance?”

Aarin felt his face heating, but his irritation was getting the best of him as he could do nothing but glare at the first year Slayer. He sighed, running his hand through his hair and taking a step back as he took a deep a breath, “Fine. Fucking forget it.”

“No, absolutely not,” Emi interjected, grabbing Arin by the shoulders and pushing him towards Kyria. “Just some pointers. Then, you can go and slink back to the shadows from whence you came.”

“Just leave him, Emi—,” Kyria started, turning away from him.

But her Second just took her wrist and pulled her close to him. “No, Kyria. It’s your duty to help those in need. He,” Emi gestured to Aarin, “Is in need.”

“Of what?” Kyria demanded.

“A good lay, obviously. Dancing can get him there,” Emi grinned over his shoulder at the Vampire. “Not that I’m sure you need any help, Romeo.”

“This is so stupid,” Kyria pinched the bridge of her nose, almost copying Titan.

“Please, humor me,” Emi begged, intertwining his fingers in front of the little Slayer.

Again, the first year caved. She rolled her eyes and threw her hair over her shoulders as she straightened her posture. Her glare shifted somewhere behind Aarin, and he felt the Hunter stiffen and immediately shuffle backwards, out of Aarin’s personal space and just out of sight.

Kyria stepped forward, taking Aarin’s hands and putting them on her hips and wrapping her arms around the back of his neck. There was more than a little gap between them, and Aarin just watched as the Slayer raised her eyes to him.

“It’s just stepping to the side, okay. Swaying,” she instructed.

Aarin arched a brow, “To what? There’s no music?”

As soon as he said it, a soft melody was playing behind him. The same crooning from the Slayer House, a newer version of the song Katelynn had fallen asleep listening too, tapping her foot to the melody, an even slower version of a man that couldn’t help falling in love. Aarin knew that Emi was playing music from his cellphone because it was all that it was good for in the Magical World, swaying to the song in his own dance as Kyria glared at him.

“You need to get closer,” Kyria said. But Aarin didn’t move.

So, she did. She stepped closer to him. Against him until they were chest to chest. Until they were sharing a hardly let-go breath. Until Aarin felt his hands readjust so they wrapped around her hips, around her back until his hands linked together. Kyria moved first, just swaying left, then right, left and right again, following the rhythm of the song her Second was playing behind them. Aarin followed, stepping slightly when she stepped, swaying when she did.

“Why do you want to learn this? So, you can charm your visitors or the Slayer?” she asked, cocking her brow but staring at his neck.

Aarin shrugged, “Adding it to the repertoire won’t hurt. Not all of them can be glamoured by words or good looks,” Aarin smirked when a blush coloured her cheeks as the distinct thought crossed her mind, and he listened.

Hard to believe you’d use words at all, she thought carelessly.

Aarin chuckled, “I have other skills I can use besides words, First Year.”

Kyria’s glare turned dangerous, her face bright red. It was adorable, a word Aarin did not use at all until she fell into his life. “Hard to believe you have other skills,” she bared her teeth. “And stop reading my mind.”

Aarin found himself grinning, stepping closer until her breath hitched. That lightning strike transformed into a storm. Current upon current of electricity shot through him until it felt as if his fingertips were tingling. Her face heated even more so that even the tips of her ears were bright red, and Aarin found himself wanting her to look at him, to meet his gaze.

“I have a lot of other skills,” Aarin said, the satisfying feeling of teasing her spreading across his chest. He unwound his hands, one on her hips, the other spreading across her lower back, and the little Slayer was now holding her breath as the hand on her lower back skimmed along her spine…that storm was wild and the threads it was weaving through him was starting to unravel. Thread by thread.  

She was aware of his hands, his fingers trailing along the ridges of her back, skimming along her ribs until his fingers traced the line of her triceps, down along her arm, his thumb brushing against her elbow so that her arm, ever so slowly, dropped from around his neck. Her hand was against his chest. Over his heart. That thread inside of him loosened even more as his fingers skimmed across the back of her hand.

Kyria was barely breathing now as Aarin took her hand in his, stretching it out as Emi had done earlier when he’d interrupted their dancing, his long fingers intertwining with hers and shifting her so subtly she didn’t even notice until her leg was in between his, and he was looking down at her. Challenging her. Daring her to look at him. Meet his gaze with those feverish cheeks—

He could feel her eyes on him. Burning through him. Drawing tight, observative circles around the column of his throat, following the vein that pulsed uselessly underneath his pale skin until he felt her eyes focusing on his jawline.

I dare you, Aarin thought hoping that she could somehow hear him. I dare you to look at me.

The first year Slayer swallowed hard before she surprised him by shifting those wide eyes to him. She wasn’t feverish, like he thought. She wasn’t embarrassed like the blush on her cheeks suggested. There was a wildfire behind her eyes – burning, burning as she met his gaze without fear. A challenge rising in the way she hiked up her shoulders and tilted up her chin.

“I don’t exactly see what other skills you have to offer, Drac,” the little shit said, her smirk pulling the corner of her smart mouth.

And the threads finally unraveled. That storm inside of him was unleashed and ripping his insides into chaos. Logic had flown out the window. The control over his emotions had been decimated. He was untethered and challenged…

Fuck, he liked a challenge.

The first year Slayer seemed to rise taller at his silence as they turned, and she stepped closer to him. “I thought you didn’t know how to dance, by the way,” she looked down at their feet. Her Second now lifting his phone above his head and swaying to the song in time with them. Kyria grinned, “Looks like you got it pretty quick.”

Untethered.

Aarin smirked and the cocky grin that the little Slayer wore faltered. Aarin stepped closer now, turning so that his back was to the Second and so that Kyria was flush against him. His heart against hers. His hips against hers, as that hand pushed her even deeper into him. His fingers dug into her skin across her hip bone until he felt the muscles flex underneath and fuck, wasn’t that an odd thing to get him hot under the collar?

Whatever little bravery captured the little Slayer vanished as Aarin pushed his hips against hers, he brought his leg up right between her legs until he felt her squirming against him. His thigh was rubbing against that part of her that made her face even more red, her breath a little more hitched, her eyes a little more heated. Aarin grinned, curling around the Slayer as they swayed, and she was trapped between his legs, and he between hers. Again, she held her breath and Aarin inhaled.

Fear curled around her scent. Coiled tight around her shoulders, and there was something unfurling beneath it all. Curiosity. Pride. And most interestingly…arousal…

What is he doing? What the hell is going on? Her mind was racing, her heart thundering like a hummingbird just beyond his own, quiet heart.

Aarin curled closer still so that he felt her shallow single breath against his collarbone. He smiled against her ear, “I’m a fast learner, First Year. A quick study, and an excellent tutor. If you let me,” on cue, he rolled his hips against hers and a small, enticing squeak escaped from her mouth. Her entire face was blood red right down to her neck where he pressed his nose against the column of her throat. Felt her heart pulsing erratically against the corner of his mouth, “I could teach you a thing or two.”

Kyria’s mind was a chorus of thoughts. And the innocence of it all was a little surprising to Aarin, and not at all what he was expecting. He’s like the Hunters, was one thought. What the fuck is going on, was another. That smile is so evil, it was his favourite. But the most interesting of all was how she argued with herself and wanted to push herself beyond her limits. Just tease him, he’s doing it to you. Don’t play with fire, Titan warned you, Slayer. Kyria squeezed her eyes shut. You’re better than this. You deserve this. He’ll hurt you. Let him hurt you.

Untethered. Uncontrolled. Wild. Aarin did want to hurt her. Different from how he wanted to hurt Katelynn. Different from how he wanted to touch Katelynn.

Aarin breathed in Kyria’s scent. Her innocence. Her purity. Her wildness and uncontrolled thoughts and hoped and prayed that it was fucking engrained into his lungs, carved into his heart, and melted into his blood until for now – all he could think about was his First Year Slayer.

The shadows swelled around them, spidering and webbing across from the night that was swallowing the space around them. Her Second was lost in his own thoughts, distracted by his little mystery of what was happening to his Slayer and trying to figure out when she started hiding things from him, still swaying to the music – not noticing that the darkness was creeping in around Aarin and Kyria. The inky swells were climbing up his legs, snaking around hers until another breathless gasp escaped her lips.

Aarin pulled her closer, his hand never leaving the delicious dip of her hip as his other hand ran over the softness of her jacket, sketching the plane of her arm until he came to her shoulder. His arm curled under her shoulder, his hand almost covering the entire joint, with fingers long enough to brush away loose tendrils of hair that kissed the nape of her neck. Aarin unfurled his arm, capturing those long ends between his fingers, curling the soft bronze-gold waves between his knuckles and allowing his fingertips to brush against the sharp curve of her jaw. Lifting her chin so that he could get a look at those wild, fire-light eyes.

The shadows closed in, slowly, so slowly drowning out the light as Aarin had Kyria close against him. So close that he could feel her hips grinding against his own. The part of him that was clearly enjoying how close her body pressed against him, moving against him, so close to where he wanted to be. He could feel her ribs against his chest. Her hand clutching the lapels of his borrowed jacket as those lovely, mismatched eyes shifted into a devilishly wicked half-lidded stare.

Aarin curled her hair around his fingers, going closer and closer to the scalp until he had a fistful of her hair and she was pulling him closer to her. He was pulling her closer to him. Their dance had turned into something dangerous. Something Aarin knew would get him into more trouble than he’d ever been since Katelynn had brought him to the island.

Trouble wasn’t normally worth his time, and effort.

But maybe this was?

Aarin grinned, running his tongue across his teeth as he angled Kyria’s head to have better access to her throat. He inhaled the scent emanating from her skin. Her heart still thundering wildly as her whirlwind of thoughts blended into an easy sound that Aarin could drown out. He wouldn’t drink from her. Never. He would never drink from anyone unless it was Katelynn.

But he wanted to hurt his little First Year Slayer. He wanted to scare her, so she stayed far away from what was most precious to him. He wanted to hurt her in a way that would quiet this storm inside of him forever. He wanted to devour her. He wanted to destroy Kyria.

“I can help you, Kyria,” he said against her neck, his teeth brushing against the artery that seemed to be singing to him. Her fist tightened around the jacket as Aarin got drunk on her scent. His other hand was dipping underneath her track pants, his thumb caressing that delicate line of her hip until she suddenly reared back.

And headbutted him square in the nose.

Aarin smelled blood immediately. He didn’t flinch but pain rang along his nose right between his eyes. Kyria darted back, out of his hold and he held his nose, glaring at her, “What the fuck, First Year?”

Whatever spell had been casted around them evaporated. Emi snapped to Kyria’s side, clutching her arm, and pulling her back and away from Aarin. Aarin blinked, watching his First Year Slayer trying to charge towards him, fists raised and a bump already forming on the center of her forehead.

“Easy, Ky, easy,” Emi tried to calm her down, but his First Year Slayer wasn’t having it.

That fire that Aarin saw – the wildfire that blazed behind those blue and green eyes was replaced with a heat that could rival the sun. Pure, uncontrolled, free burning fire was glowing behind those eyes and Aarin felt himself transfixed, that storm inside of him just getting bigger and bigger.

“Bite me, Aarin,” Kyria managed to escape her Second and pushed Aarin. To his surprise, there was some strength behind it, and it unsettled his feet. Emi grabbed her arm again, “You think you can mess with me like everyone else on the island? Why? Just because you have the Slayer to back you up?”

A list of names was rushing through her mind. Aarin couldn’t keep track of her thoughts as her words, and her thoughts blended together into a stream of information. Titan always watching over me because of the Slayer, she thought. Chelsea babying me because of the Slayer, was another. Daxcia screwing with me every day because the Slayer won’t stop him. The voice saying that the Slayer will kill me. Everyone is so concerned about the goddamn Slayer—

The Slayer will kill you, said the voice. So different and so opposite from Kyria’s sweet voice. So dark, and vile that Aarin felt its claws sear through his own brain. A low growl emitted from the center of Aarin’s chest – a warning – and he hoped that the voice could hear him beyond the wildfire that was Kyria.

“Don’t screw with me just because you think I can’t handle myself,” Kyria escaped Emi’s clutches and pushed Aarin again. Again, he shifted under her strength and had to part his feet to keep his balance.

The storm whirled inside of him. The cracks of lightning, the darkness that swelled like wild ocean waves within his Soul rose to meet the flames that burned behind her eyes. It was so different from his Slayer – from his Katelynn – who was tranquil, orderly, still. A storm all on her own.

Aarin smirked. The grin stretching across his mouth as his tongue ran over the blood that trickled over his mouth from his nose. A delicious gasp escaped her lips, and turned his First Year bright fucking red, and that just made him grin even bigger.

Kyria grabbed her Second’s arm and pulled him away from Aarin. Her glare was cold, but it ignited a fire inside Aarin’s chest. She bared her teeth as she issued her warning, “Screw you, Discount Dracula.”

She clutched her Second, grabbed their shopping bags and stormed away while her Second’s head was bouncing between where Aarin stood and the little Slayer dragging him away, asking what the hell happened.

Aarin chuckled to himself, watching the pair disappear toward the Academy as he wiped the blood from his nose with the back of his hand. Following their thoughts until the pair were out of range, disappearing beyond the Academy gates.

With that little burst of energy, Aarin called the shadows to him and fell into darkness. Even as the nothingness consumed him from head to toe and he lost himself within the void that seemed chained to his Soul, he couldn’t get Kyria out of his head. Her scent filled his lungs; her touch still lingered on his hands and between his legs – his First Year was a bright light burning the shadows that always threatened to ink him out like the mistake he was.

Aarin stepped out of the shadows, back at the Slayer House where a single lamp sat on the desk that he had abandoned his third year homework on, right beside the neat pile of the Slayer’s research and some of her other things. The light was dim, dim enough to make the shadows fill the cove that he and the Slayer claimed. The staircase veiled in the darkness that always followed him. He could still hear the music echoing from the library like a phantom—

“There you are.”

Aarin whirled around, surprised that he didn’t sense the Slayer coming towards him, his jacket in her hand. Katelynn’s blue and green eyes were cold as they narrowed in on the blood on his hand. The Slayer stormed towards him, tossing his jacket on the table and grabbing his cheeks between her fingers, angling his head towards the light.

Aarin didn’t look away, grabbing the wrist that held his face and swallowing hard when her gaze narrowed. “Did you drink tonight?”

Aarin held his breath. One of the few memories he had was of Katelynn telling him not to lie to her because she could tell. She’d proved it over and over again no matter who she interrogated. She always knew. But something flared inside of Aarin.  It had taken root within him years ago and spiked, and flowered and twisted inside of him until it slid off his tongue with ease.

“No,” he said honestly. He’d lied about his drinking habits before, and it always went undetected. He’d lied to her before which is why an awful thorn-riddled, poisonous feeling had flowered inside of him, but he only did it when it was necessary.

Tonight, after that pesky, annoying little First Year, he needed something tonight. And something stupid inside of him always thought he could get it from the Slayer. Something vicious inside of him always wanted it from the Slayer.

The Slayer tsked him as she let go of his cheek. He watched her as she stepped away from him and began unbuttoning the top buttons of her blouse. His heart was thundering now, those vicious cracks of lightning striking over the flames the little Slayer had set ablaze inside of him as he stared – blatantly stared – at the Slayer.

The last button popped free, and she shrugged out of her blouse leaving her in nothing, but a bra and Aarin found himself half-sitting on the desk they shared, his legs grounding him to the floor as he watched the Slayer undress in the dim-lit room, but to his Vampire eyes she was glowing in the dark.

Her jeans were tight and hugged her toned, lean legs. The belts and holsters anchored to her slim hips and thighs in such a way that it made Aarin hungry for the flesh that was hidden beneath. The lines along her abs, and her stomach flexed as she shrugged out of her blouse. The muscles in her back flexing as she shook the thin material. Her muscles in her arms moving like marble beneath silk as she carefully folded her shirt and walked towards him.

His hands were behind him, clutching for dear life underneath the desk hard enough that he could feel the wood leaving deep imprints along his skin. He had to breathe and really concentrate on not shattering the wood as the Slayer stepped in front of him and set the blouse down on the desk beside him, not looking at him once and fuck him — he was hungry for her stare.

The black cross she wore hung between her breasts, the thin old leather straps frayed at the edges as she took it off her neck with one single pull over her head, spreading those pale yellow tendrils over her shoulders and Aarin clenched the desk even tighter because he wanted nothing more than to move it over her shoulder, touch the soft skin along her neck and take her by the throat and bring him closer to him—

“I’ll feed you later,” Katelynn said, leaning towards him again, Behind him, her eyes focused on something on the desk. Aarin blinked, turning to see that his Slayer was swapping the old leather necklace for a black chain, taking the cross off the leather straps and slinking it onto the chain and clasping it around her neck. Again, without looking at him she began gathering the too-soft blonde strands into a thick braid, “We have to go to Grave Point and drop something off for Benjamen.”

Aarin blinked. The air he held in his lungs escaping painfully through his swollen nose, “We do?”

Katelynn finished her hair and reached for something behind him again, it seemed as if she was purposefully avoiding touching him as she slid a knitted jersey from her things and slipped it over her head, fishing her braid and necklace out from the soft blue wool and placing both in front of her body.

“I found a marionette doll in Bedlam,” Katelynn explained as she pulled her jersey down. Aarin was still staring at her, unmoving, just listening as the Slayer crouched down and picked up something from the floor. A small creepy ass doll with a massive smile and big blue eyes.

Fuck him. Honestly.

Aarin let go of his breath and was now leaning on the desk, the back of his head touching the wall as he closed his eyes and fought to gain some control back within himself. He brought his leg up and ran his hand through his hair as Katelynn grabbed the doll around its tiny neck and inspected it.

Aarin watched as his Slayer stared at the doll, one hand holding it tightly as if it were a vicious beast, the other was brushing over the carved lines of its unmoving hair, her eyes were lingering on its face, but her mind was somewhere else completely and it was the first time in a long while that Aarin heard only Katelynn’s voice within her thoughts – just her – not the other versions of her.

He kind of looks like him, her thoughts wondered without the chorus of a thousand other voices. Katelynn caressed the dolls cheeks; It’s almost his smile…

Aarin’s mood turned sour. He frowned leaning against the wall, jealous that his Slayer was touching a stupid doll and not him. Whenever a doll came into the picture, her thoughts went quiet and she looked for similarities within the dolls, trying to find a familiar face of someone Aarin didn’t know within the plastic features.

Fuck him. He was jealous of a goddamn doll.

Aarin sighed, again, running his hand through his hair and slipping off the table, “I’m tired tonight. Mind if I stay home?”

Katelynn finally looked away from the doll, at him, and again it felt as if it was too hard to breathe. She cocked her head to the side, raising a brow and that storm within him instantly went calm.

That’s what it was like with Katelynn, her calmness, order and general confidence forced him to relax, made him focus on the stillness that was too far away from him at this moment. That storm within him drowned out by tranquil waters and an easy breeze and it felt like everything was too big to fit inside of him.

“Go ahead,” Katelynn gave a shrug. She dropped the doll to her side, “I might not come back tonight so I wanted you to come with so I could feed you.”

Feed me now, he almost ordered. He felt it swell on his chest, felt the demand clench his fists and he swallowed it down as if it were acid. It burned just as much.

“I’ve got it covered,” that lie flowed easily. And like all the others he’d told her went undetected. He felt dizzy with…

Fucking need.

He fucking needed something from the Slayer.

“Great,” the Slayer said. No animation in her voice. No flare. No emotion. The huskiness of her usual tone grating against his bones as she stepped towards him again. She reached out and touched his jaw and the power that radiated through her fingertips sparked through him until it felt like his skin was on fire. Her gaze narrowed on him, “Drink tonight before I shove a bottle down your throat.”

Aarin couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his lips, “Promise?”

He took her wrist in his hand. It wasn’t as thin as Kyria and that made him drop his hand immediately. That was a strange thought. Katelynn rolled her eyes, and he felt it stir that storm within his Soul because it was such a Kyria reaction. Katelynn had been doing it more since his First Year had come to campus.

And fuck him for thinking about her now when he was with his Slayer. His Katelynn.

“I’ll see you when I can,” she tapped his jaw playfully and stepped away from him, clutching the doll behind her. She opened the door and called over her shoulder, “Don’t wait up.”

“Yeah,” Aarin stared at his hands. He flexed his fingers before he darted towards the Slayer, holding the door open just as she was about to shut it. Katelynn turned to look up at him…and he now noticed that she looked directly at him not like his First Year—

Fuck him.

“Do you…,” the storm had control of him now. The darkness rising like waves within him and crashing against his chest as he searched the blue and green eyes that locked onto him. He cleared his throat and looked away as he mumbled, “Do you know how to dance?”

Katelynn blinked, she leaned away from him and quirked a brow before giving a long, and confused, “Yes?”

Aarin nodded. The way his arms were on the top of the door, above her shoulders, high above her head, the other on the door frame near her hips. In his position, it would be so easy to sweep his Slayer in his arms and just…

Dance…

Katelynn walked up to him, putting her hand against his chest and again that darkness swelled, and his need for the Slayer roared like a hurricane within his blood. Devour her. Use her. Drink from her. Have her. Take her. He wanted her.

He wanted her.

He needed her!

“Drink, Aarin,” Katelynn said softly, but he could barely hear her above the heat inside of him. Every nerve ending was focused on her hand against his chest, so close to his heart. Katelynn offered a small smile, “Your eyes are glowing. You can go dancing another day.”

The growl that shook from him was beyond his control as his nails dug into the grooves of the stone walls. His insides were quaking. His patience was quivering. Aarin was hungry. So, fucking hungry. Through gritted teeth, and the Slayer tilting her chin up to challenge this powerful energy that was coursing through him, Aarin swallowed the thrill down and said, “I want to dance with you.”

He was close to her now. His nose just inches from hers. Her mouth so dangerously close to his and he was still clinging to the doorframe. It was all that was holding him back from devouring his Slayer, all that was keeping her safe.

Katelynn huffed out a dry chuckle and rolled her eyes again. And Aarin pulled himself back into his body, staring at the Slayer – his Slayer – and having his thoughts utterly, and completely consumed by something else. By someone else.

Katelynn reached out, and touched his jaw, stroking along the sharp angle of his chin. And she replied with her smoky voice, “I don’t dance, Aarin.”

Aarin blinked. Whatever had built inside of him had deflated like a balloon. His mood tumbled into a chasm that had no bottom. His nails relaxed instantly and now the door frame was all that kept him from falling. He felt the shadows behind him eat away at the light, drown the entire Slayer House in a darkness that it had never seen. The shadows made ice crawl up the walls, snuff out any warmth that was held within the empty hallways and only the music sang into the dark, to no one.

Katelynn tapped his chin again as she issued an order, “Drink.”

She turned and left without another word. He watched her walk down the trail with only the doll she carried in her hands staring back at him, feeling sorry for him like the fucking idiot he was.

Aarin closed the door, shutting out what little light existed, and he was left in the void of blackness all on his own. And only the music was left ringing through the halls, ghosting through the empty rooms, singing a song of how a pathetic, untethered, dark man…

…was falling in love…