Page 2 of A Game of Love and Betrayal

Yeah, she wasn’t interested in his type of fun. Especially not in a place like this. She guessed he’d be a two-pumps-and-done kind of guy. Not what she was looking for. Besides, the atmosphere in this small space left everything to be desired. Yellowed wallpaper hung off the walls in clumps, chipped tiles demarcated the kitchen from the dirty living area, and the sheets on the bed looked like they had never seen the inside of a washing machine.

Not to mention the noise. The neighbors were far too loud. Tell-tale thumps came from the bedroom upstairs. The television next door blared, and a too-chipper voice filtered through the walls, announcing the arrival of a new, never-before-seen beauty serum. According to the saleswoman, it was designed to make even the most wrinkle-laden human young again.

Brynleigh barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. That so-called miracle cure was probably made with vampire blood. Not that she had a problem with people doing whatever they needed to survive—obviously, considering her current predicament—but she wasn’t a fan of hiding markers of age.

Getting old was a privilege many citizens of the Republic of Balance weren’t afforded, including the halfling on the bed.

The man still hadn’t decided, and Brynleigh’s patience had run its course. Honestly, it was a miracle she’d made it this long. “Too late. Blade it is.”

She spun the dagger in the air, catching the weapon by its engraved hilt before stepping towards the man. His eyes widened, and panic flashed through those brown orbs.

“No.” His nostrils flared, and a hint of fear mingled with the apartment’s musty aroma. “Please, don’t do this.”

The sigh that slipped from Brynleigh’s mouth could probably be heard worldwide. Of course, this halfling bastard would beg. She should’ve known he was one of those.

Zanri, Brynleigh’s handler, had probably laughed when he selected this mark for her. He knew how much she hated whiners. She would rather deal with someone who fought back any day. It felt… better when they fought back. Easier, somehow, to deal that killing blow. She liked when they tried to stop her, especially when she knew what they’d done.

Still, Brynleigh had to be certain. She didn’t believe in killing innocents.

She crossed her arms, and even though it was the last thing she wanted to do, she leaned against the filthy counter. Her dagger dangled from her fingers as she eyed the man on the bed. “Your name is Geralt Warsh, correct?”

He stared at her.

Fine. Two could play at this game. With a flick of her wrist, Brynleigh silently commanded the shadows to tighten. “Halfling Death Elf, originally from the Northern District of the Republic?”

The man swallowed, his eyes darting back and forth. That scent of fear grew stronger until the bitter, cloying aroma was all Brynleigh could smell. During moments like this, she wished vampires didn’t have such strong senses.

“N-n-no, you’re wrong.” He shook his head.

For Isvana’s sake. This was getting ridiculous.

“Don’t fucking lie to me, it’s unbecoming.” Brynleigh uncrossed her arms and moved across the room in a blur. She slashed her dagger across the halfling’s hair in a movement too fast for anyone but a vampire to see.

A long copper lock fell onto the mattress that was three shades of brown too dark to be sanitary, revealing a pointed, pierced ear. A red swirling tattoo crawled down the side of Geralt’s neck. It was a mark of his Maturation and served to confirm his identity. The three earrings hanging from his ear were additional proof that this was the man she sought.

“I know who you are,” Brynleigh said, done with his games. Between the lecherous gaze, the lying, and the whining, she wanted to leave. She’d have to take a dozen showers to rid her skin of the disgusting feel of this place. “What you are.”

Geralt Warsh, half-Death Elf, half-human, was not a good man. He was a hardened criminal, the likes of which Brynleigh rarely encountered. When Zanri had shown her Geralt’s file, her fangs had burned in anger. The halfling had been convicted of several crimes against minors, which had led to him spending over three decades in Black Prison in the Western District of the Republic. Earlier this spring, Geralt had been released. Apparently, his time in prison hadn’t taught him any lessons. He’d gone right back to his old ways.

The photos Brynleigh had seen were enough to turn anyone’s stomach, including hers. She might have been a vampire, but she still had feelings, for the moon goddess’s sake.

And Geralt? He was so fucking cocky he wouldn’t get caught that he wasn’t even covering his tracks. Finding him this afternoon had barely taken any effort. After studying the paperwork, Brynleigh had located the halfling at the Falling Star, a local dive bar. He’d been indulging in copious amounts of bottom-shelf liquor, happily telling anyone and everyone that he’d recently been released from prison.

As if that was a bragging point.

Being imprisoned meant he’d been caught, which by definition, was not something to boast about. Brynleigh, on the other hand, had never been caught. She’d never even come close to it. That was one of the many reasons she was confident she’d be the one walking out of here tonight.

Once she had arrived at the Falling Star, all Brynleigh had to do to procure an invitation up to the grungy apartment was slide next to the halfling and flirt a little. Honestly, it was child’s play.

The criminal had been in the middle of removing his jeans—which, no, thank you, Brynleigh didn’t have sex with pedophiles—when the vampire released her shadows and bound him to the bed.

Which brought them back to the present.

Geralt studied Brynleigh. At first, his eyes were dull and brown, like the stains on his mattress. He wailed and struggled against the shadows binding him, even going so far as to fabricate a story about a wife and two children he claimed waited for him in the suburbs.

It was all a lie.

Brynleigh had memorized his file. Like her, the halfling had no one. He was a lowlife criminal who preyed on those less powerful than him.

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