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My fingers are clinging to Cor’s clothing, so I disentangle them carefully and with popping joints. ‟I have to—,” I mumble, turning towards the intersection, only to realize that Cor can’t very well run through the sunshine with me. He’s already slightly crispy from running all the way here along the extremely sunny river bank, I don’t think we should risk finding out if he survives the way back. And we can’t stay here until nightfall; the Norseman’s men will find us the moment the sun sets.

Hesitating, I look in the other direction, where sheer brick walls meet and leave nothing but a single back alley door as an escape route.

Cor grabs my wrist just as I’m about to suggest breaking the door down to see where it leads. He tugs me back, pushes me against the wall again, and corrals me in with flexing arms next to my shoulders. ‟No,” he rumbles quietly, his expressive face hovering inches from mine, eyes sharp and golden.

Then he dives in again, capturing my lips, pushing until I open my mouth and let him in. I should hate myself for the soft whimper I make when our tongues meet, but I can’t focus enough. He captures my lip between his teeth, drawing a drop of blood. His hands slide down my back, grabbing my ass and lifting me as if I weigh nothing, settling me on his hips as he devours my mouth with a low growl, hunting after those tiny specks of blood, sucking on the cut on my lower lip.

The intensity of Cor's kiss only fuels the desire burning inside me. By now I am painfully hard, pushing against Cor's lower stomach. The slight friction of our movements creates a wet spot at the zipper, a reminder that it has been quite a while since my last release. The realization worsens the ache in my body.

Cor breaks the kiss, his breaths coming out in ragged pants as he rests his forehead against mine. I can feel his own arousal pressing against me, and it takes everything in me not to grind against him and relieve some of the pressure between us.

"Say no," he says, his voice raw and thick with desire.

I so want to blame my silence on him, but I cannot form any coherent words as I run my hands up and down his sides, trying to remember how to swallow. It's been so long since I've been able to touch anyone like this, let alone someone so damned… compatible. My mind wants to say ‘hot’, but I push the thought down. I need at least one victory against my horny body, and if this is it, then that is how it shall be.

Then reality comes crashing back down on us as I remember our current situation. We are still exposed, most likely hunted by cultists, definitely hunted by Cor’s vampire kiss, and about to face a very dangerous woman. We can't afford to lose ourselves in this moment. I can’t afford it.

"We have to go," I whisper, reluctantly pulling away from his mouth.

He licks my lip like a cat that found cream, and I feel the cut prickling as his saliva closes the wound. Maybe he should lick my leg, that would be helpful. Or the bite wounds. ‟Where?” he rumbles, obviously not sharing my unrest. He dips his fingertips into the hem of my pants, right where the swell of my ass starts, and my brain shuts down again.

How is anyone supposed to think like this? ‟Stop it,” I grumble, slapping his shoulder lightly. I almost don’t expect him to listen, but he does. With an annoyed sneer, but he does. I carefully slide off his hips, making a face as my rock hard length rubs across his equally bulging crotch, already mourning the loss of his body against mine. But it can’t be helped. Not if Asha is already in the city.

At least the threat of Cor ravishing me in this dirty, dark back alley has helped me decide. ‟You wait here. I get the car, and we drive back to the safe-house. I’ll drop you off there, go to the hotel I organized as a meet up, and play nice with Asha. And as soon as I get a chance, I’ll find out what in all seven hells she was doing cavorting around with cultists.” Cor opens his mouth to protest, but I raise my hand to stop him. ‟No. I know you want to protect me, but you cannot be close while Asha is around. She tried to give you to the cultists once already. I’m not willing to risk you again. I’ll be fine. And we will meet up later.”

For a few tense moments, I am certain he will reject my words and simply do what he wants. I couldn’t stop him. A shudder goes through his chest muscles and down his arms, forcing his hands into fists as he stares into nothingness above my shoulders. He finally sucks air through clenched jaws and grounds out, ‟Not much later. We meet. At night. Every night.”

I can’t promise him that. I shouldn’t promise him that. What comes out of my mouth, though, is, ‟I promise.” And this is how I will get myself killed one day.

THIS TIME THE hotel is a little closer to the better parts of the Ghetto, closer to the Bracket River. I almost laugh out loud at the thought. As if there is a better part. It’s all rotten and depressing; the only thing that changes is the amount of criminals, homeless people, and corpses on the street. The sun outside is bright and resolute, even with the smog and the autumn cold coming in. The city should be prettier in daylight, but it just shows how broken and disheveled the houses truly are.

Maybe the Central District—or even New Venetia—is nicer to look at. Maybe I’ve only been to the worst parts of this cesspool so far. I doubt it, though. I stand in the creaky doorway and watch Asha disappear around a corner. Our reunion was very anticlimactic, to say the least. She approved of the hotel, mentioned nothing about her being in the city before our meet-up, and she didn’t mock me. That last part still confuses me, but it would have been weird to poke at it.

The only thing she did mention was that she had a meet-up with a gun dealer and that she would be back later. I offered to go with her, but she declined with that pants-dropping grin and a wink. Said she was a big girl and not to worry.

We talked no more about her lone rider plans for the night and instead stuck to vague niceties, but I could see her brain rattle and creak throughout unpacking. And as soon as she was done, she simpered off, all rigid smiles and reassurances. I didn’t stop her. All I could see when I looked at her back, all I could remember, was that tiny, dark, stink-filled catacomb and the metal grate blocking my escape route, locking me in with monsters.

Alone again, my brain rubs itself raw with the echoing why, why, why, but it never finds an answer. I simply don’t understand it. Why? Why did she lock me in? Why did she take off before she was sure I was dead? Why did she meet up with Arzel before she was sure our target was dead? Why didn’t she come back to look for my body? All those whys don’t leave any space for other thoughts. Or small-talk. Or any talk at all. I let her go because I need to know. Because she won’t tell me if I asked outright.

A couple walks by on the way to their room, eying me suspiciously. I’m overdressed for this part of the city—well, most parts of the city—, but I feel most comfortable in slacks and crisp dress shirts when other Hunters are around. And the yellow shades on my nose. I’ve always had a tendency to overdress when I’m truly nervous. The slim black student tie may have overdone it, but it goes well with my tailor-cut suit coat. I like to look pretty when I feel vulnerable, so sue me. The Hunters make me want to dress up and look like more, whereas Cor makes me want to be comfortable in my skin. Funny how that works.

Asha will have reached the main road by now, enough of a head start for what I have planned. Jumping down the two steps to the parking lot, I start walking as I check my holster, my gun, phone, wallet, a nervous flutter of hands to prepare me for what is coming. Stalking my family leaves a rotten taste in my tongue. The thought of not doing it makes my Hunter’s Mark prickle and itch. Makes it a straightforward decision.

The sky roils with a mixture of smog and neon lights as I glance around the corner to make sure she hasn’t noticed me, then step out and follow her. The streets in this part of the ghetto are neither empty nor swamped with criminals, thank God. People go about their business, bars draw in customers, cars clatter by, and although I catch a few curious stares, nobody pays much attention to me. Or Asha, who is weaving her way in and out of the thin crowd a block further up the street. Her ponytail bobs with each step, guiding me along like a lure I don’t quite want to follow, but do anyway.

We leave the busy nightlife a few blocks further down; her walking resolutely and me stopping at the corner to glance down the street after her. Empty, except for her. And leading nowhere, from what I’m seeing. Nothing but increasingly dodgy looking buildings that taper off into an industrial wasteland of chain-link fences and sleek concrete walls. And no hidey-holes in sight. Fuck.

Asha is a tiny dot on the horizon when she finally stops and walks into one of the properties. The urge to run after her is achingly strong, but I stay put, balling my fists so hard my nails leave dark grooves in the palms of my hands. If I follow her too soon, and she comes out, I’m busted. And then I would have to explain why I’m shadowing her for no reason other than being what she calls ‘a whiny bitch’. No, I have to be smart about this. Calm. Even if it hurts.

My skin is crawling with nerves and tension when she finally pops out of the property again, raises her hand as if waving goodbye, and stalks off. Not towards me, thank God, but if she’s going home, and I’m not there, I will be in big trouble. She’s the better liar, and unfortunately, she’s also the better lie detector. Best not to get into that position at all.

I race around the corner as soon as she’s out of sight, sprinting down the road until I get a grip on myself and slow down into a purposeful stride. My heart jumps uneasily at the dozens of reasons that spring to mind for her visiting here, each worse than the last. The only reason that doesn’t even make it into the top ten of possibilities is her actually meeting a gun dealer. She has more toys than me, and they are better than mine. She doesn’t need a new gun.

I slow down even further when I reach my the corner of the compound she walked into. A security guard stands at the driveway to the property, examining me with the bored threat of a seasoned fighter. I almost jump out of my skin when our eyes meet, barely hanging on to my blasé charade. Not that I could turn back now. Forcing the tension out of my shoulders, I plaster a nervous smile on my face and trot closer, all head ducks and shuffling feet. Don’t have to fake that.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you, but it seems my partner lost her wallet, and she said it might be somewhere around here,” I babble. “Could you maybe check? If it’s not, I’ll have to run all the way back to the hotel, and that would ruin her plans for the night.” I hope he mistakes my panicked blush for embarrassment, because otherwise I’m fucked.

The guard isn’t a big man, but barrel-chested, rugged, and not impressed with me. He examines me with easy confidence, starting at the boots and swiping his eyes upward. I know the exact moment he spots the faint bulge of my gun, because he tenses and straightens, shifting his hand from the side of his belt to the back where his own gun is. He doesn’t look like he wants to outright shoot me, the move instinctual and thoughtless, but it proves he isn’t here for show.