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Half Breed Bitch
YOU KNOW HOW YOU PROMISED yourself you wouldn’t bethat girlto avoid becoming a walking, talking stereotype? Well, so did I. But, of course, it didn’t work.
My chest was tightly wrapped in a black, cinched corset top, leaving the girls on full display to anyone whose eyes strayed—aka, all of them. The shiny silver heels I chose to wear were thin and long; a weapon for any asshole who needed to be taught a lesson. Also, the little shorty-shorts I promised never to wear were presently rolling up my toned thighs and just as annoying as I suspected they would be.
I’d applied a red matte stain to accentuate my lips in a way only a lady of the night could. Something only made funnier because I called myself “Lady” after discarding the name given to me by the state and the system, which inevitably abandoned me. I’d coated my eyes with goth-inspired black eyeshadow, as not to disappoint the entire outfit, but I’d be the first to say I probably looked more hooker than goth. Leather gloves creaked around the handle of my favorite spiked bat, ready to give some bastard hell.
And I would. Oh yes, I was super keen to do just that.
My target strolled like he hadn’t a care in the world. Like he wasn’t evil incarnate. Like he wasn’t going to get his ass handed to him by ahalf breed.
“Fight evil with evil,”I always say.
Gripping the bat handle harder, I eagerly picked up the pace, nearly frolicking in my haste. It’d take one seriously oblivious asshole to miss me right behind him. Lucky for me, this one wasn't. The stupid ones weren't any fun, anyway. My target pivoted my direction, already sensing my presence, but only because I let him.
I hadn’t gotten to where I was by being easy prey. I stalked with the best of them. Being what I was, I could blend where I needed to blend, and they’d never suspect me for a second. But it wasn’t any fun if they didn’t at least put up a little bit of a fight.
Rewards were few and far between for a vigilante these days, and I took what I could out of the fights I engaged. So, I let them sense me. I gave them a little taste. The jerks were all the same, and they always underestimated me. Misogynistic assholes, the lot of them.
It didn't help that demons were as gorgeous as they were evil. It made it difficult to focus sometimes, but not enough that it’d ever put me in danger of losing a fight.
I hadn’t lost one yet.
The dark-haired beauty stared at me with open interest, now clued into what sort of beastie I was. He’d never guess what I really was—they never did—but I liked the little back and forth banter I shared with these self-confident types.
"These are my hunting grounds, sweetie, but I'm willing to trade a favor for a favor."
Predictable. Sex was practically currency in the evil underground.
I swung my bat in lazy circles and sashayed his direction with the gifts I’d be stupid not to use to my advantage. "Bold of you to assume I’d be at all interested in a trade, Vin."
Vin’s eyes narrowed with violence.
It wasn't the name he'd used at the bar, and it was one he wouldn't use without knowing that person intimately, which was the exact reason I chose to use it.
The beautiful mask of his human face fell away to the demon mug hiding beneath. Other humans wouldn't see it. Without special blood, no one could. Demons rarely chose to show it voluntarily to others. Emotion brought it out, and Vin was Emotion Central right now. The smart cookie had clearly read between the lines.
Momma was so proud.
Unfortunately for Vin, I could see his demon face whether or not he wanted me to, and it never got old how quickly these demons exposed themselves. Pun intended. Tragic, really.
Vin smelled the air like some kind of carnivore sizing up the competition, and then his eyes settled on mine from across the space, recognition dawning. "You'reher."
"Oh, clever. Yep, I'm that half-breed bitch you've all heard so much about," I clapped back before I was in front of him, bat sliding back smoothly. "And you've been a very bad boy, haven't you?" My arm swung out and landed with a crack across the side of the asshole's head. He hadn't expected it, so he went clamoring to the asphalt before he could evade my swing.
Vin should've dodged the hit being the age and strength of demon he was, but it didn't bother me any he'd chosen to think himself untouchable. To be fair, it was the reason many of them fell perfectly at my feet.
Arrogance.
So, I didn't waste any time pinning his shoulders down to the ground with my knees and using my strength to trap him, my favorite position to overtake these superiority-flexing types. Of course he struggled—because what person wouldn't wriggle like a bug trapped with a powerhouse of an enemy like me above them?—but it wouldn't do him any good. I already had a dagger in my other hand, ready to go.
Lips tilted with ill-suppressed glee, my hand sliced out and decapitated the demon's head without any trouble. Like butter. It didn't appeal to me, all the blood and separated body parts. But it did bring a certain kind of satisfaction I lived for on nights when my rage was at its highest. Nights when the memories of too many instances as a victim plagued a tired mind. And just like that, another asshole was done in by the very prey he hunted.
Because demons couldn't be killed purely by slicing and dicing them, I took the special powder I made myself out of a hidden pocket in my corset and spread it generously over his corpse to trap his soul eternally to its host body. A little trick I learned from someone who knew way more about demons than I ever could.
It was never explained what happened to me when the body was burned to ashes, but I imagine it made it more difficult to counter the effects of the powder. Not like it was easy to counter in the first place. A simple dip in water wouldn’t wash away its effects. It also couldn't be used prior to death, which was the entire reason I couldn't be harmed by it.
